S^^^;\^$5; 






»^^^^.^ 






LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



-pSJ i "z- ^ 

i^'-'i ■*- 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



VERSE AND STORY 



> .,..^' 



A 



FLORENCE V,^ BRITTINGH AM 




CHARLES WELLS MOULTON 

BUFFALO 

189? 



79 



3/^ 






Copyright, 1892, 
!y JACOB BRITTINGHAM. 



Printed By C, W. Moulton, Buffalo, N. Y. 



THIS LITTLE WORK 

IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 

TO MY SON 

Philip Shearer Brittingham 

FOR WHOM I can ASK NO GREATER BLESSING 

THAN 

THAT THESE PAGES 

MAY HELP HIM TO BE WHAT HIS MOTHER WAS: 

PURE, GENTLE and DILIGENT 

IN THE SERVICE OF 

GOD 

AND MAN. 



PREFACE. 

This volume is compiled at the solicitation of friends 
and for a dear little son, who will highly appreciate in 
future years the words of his devoted mother. He 
will also value, as will all her friends, the glimpse of a 
noble life and the tribute to a blessed memory, which 
the Bishop of West Virginia has added to its pages. 
The book makes no special pretentions and hence its 
title Verse and Story. It was written as a recrea- 
tion and a reHef for an active mind, and it is but 
just to add that such of her work as has not been pre- 
viously published is taken direcdy from the original 
draft of the author without alteration or correction. 

Mrs. Brittingham took particular delight in literature 
and met with some success in writing for various 
periodicals, yet she was too much occupied with the 
"Father's business " and the pressing duties of home- 
life to do full justice to her literary efforts. She loved 
song well, but souls better, and her feet were too often 
turned toward the home of the humble to visit fre- 
quently that of the muses. The "Old, Old Story" 



VI Preface. 

was so real in her life that she seemed to have little 
time to write mere words of fiction. She made up in 
intensity of life for length of days. 

"God breathed a soul into a human form, 
Endowed it richly with rare gifts; 
The artist's touch, the poet's song, 
The power to wake sweet melody — 

All these were hers. 
Thus fit to shine in Fashion's realm. 
She meekly chose the ' better part, ' 
And passed all undefiled along the way. 
To soothe and cheer the desolate. 
And help to higher, nobler life 

By her own spotless purity. 
Death touched her and she slept 
To wake in deathless joy 

In Paradise." 

Jacob Brittingham. 

St. Luke's Rectory, Wheeling, W. Va. 
Eastertide, 18^2. 



CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Memoir, i 

Poems, 17 

Berwick's Mistake, 79 

Agnes, 167 

A Bona Fide Ghost, 183 

Tiie Paradise of Pins, 193 

My First Investment, 203 

King and Queen Days, 215 



MEMOIR, 



FLORENCE SHEARER BRITTINGHAM. 

IT was in the summer of 1878, on the occasion of my 
first official visit to Emmanuel Church, Moorefield, 
Va., that I met Florence Shearer then in her 22nd 
year. 

In the busy life I have since led, it has been a 
constant pleasure to me to meet her when I made my 
annual visits to Moorefield, and to Clarksburg and 
Wheeling, W. Va., where she afterwards lived. But 
I cherish, with special feelings of interest and tender- 
ness, the recollection of how she passed the first year 
of her married life, as a member of my own household, 
in Parkersburg, W. Va. And yet, notwithstanding 
the long, and I may say familiar intercourse of these 
years, of which I have a very distinct impression and 
a most fragrant memory, it is with great hesitation 
that I put my pen to paper to attempt to convey in 
anywise to others what are my own thoughts about 
this dear woman, who we believe now rests in the 
Paradise of God. In our long association with our 
friends we are not accustomed to formulate our 



4 Memoir. 

thoughts and feelings about them, and so, when in the 
providence of God they are taken from us, we are not, 
at once, ready to tell to others what they have been 
to us and what we believe they have been in their own 
distinct personality, and in their work for, and associa- 
tion with, other people. 

After we have said all that comes in our minds to 
say, we feel that the picture we present is a very 
imperfect one ; we realize its defects though we may 
not be able to supply what is lacking. We can state 
the main facts of the life, and draw the general features 
of the character, but the subtle charm of the presence 
and of the expression is often still wanting. No one 
else can read between the lines of what we have writ- 
ten, and therefore our words do not convey to others 
just what is in our own minds. After all our efforts, 
therefore, we have to be satisfied with an incomplete, 
partial and defective sketch, and we may well hesitate 
to put it before the public as a fair expression of our 
own appreciation. 

Florence Virginia, daughter of Philip T. and Susan 
M. Shearer, was the eldest of five children, and was 
born in Moorefield, Va., on the 15th of November, 
1856. 

Mr. Shearer came from Winchester, Va., nearly 
forty years ago, and settled in Moorefield, where he 
still lives a highly respected citizen and a successful 
merchant. Mrs. Shearer's maiden name was Harness, 



Memoir. 5 

a family well known from the earliest settlement of the 
South- Branch Valley. 

There is not much incident to be looked for during 
the first years of a child's life in a quiet little inland 
town like Moorefield, which nestling under the moun- 
tains in its beautiful valley, seems shut out from the 
restlessness and turmoil of the great, busy world. 

Here Florence was reared with such surroundings 
and associations as marked a quiet Christian home. 
But her friends now delight to recall how, even in her 
early childhood, she showed the marked character- 
istics which adorned her after life. Her affectionate 
disposition in her family and to her little friends, and 
her cheerful obedience to all in authority, are grate- 
fully remembered by everyone who knew her as a 
child. 

No doubt, like other children, she must have had 
her trials, but it is not too much to say that, even 
then, her character was marked by a singular sweet- 
ness of temper, in the exercise of which she constantly 
showed herself kind and generous to her playmates 
and more than usually ready to pass over any unkind 
word or action. 

As a complement to this temper of singular sweet- 
ness, was her simple and transparent truthfulness, not 
only in word but in deed; what we may call the beau- 
tiful integrity of her character, which, showing itself 
from the time that she could know right from wrong, 



6 Metnoir. 

inspired the utmost confidence in all who came to 
know her. 

Another marked characteristic which distinguished 
her through life appeared also in these early years, 
the spirit of helpfulness for others. When only in her 
fourth year, she taught the little colored children, who 
were about her own home, the Lord's Prayer, and the 
' * Now I lay me down to sleep, ' ' and when a little 
older, being between nine and ten years of age, and 
able to read correctly and easily, she used to make 
long visits to her grandmother's in the country, and 
read the Bible to such of the old servants as remained 
after the war. When other children would have been 
occupied in play, she would teach these willing schol- 
ars hymns and instruct them in the Bible. It is no 
wonder they loved the dear child, who thus tried to 
help them to a higher life, with a sincere and simple 
devotion, and this they expressed by calling her ''their 
little angel." 

To recall even these few simple things from her early 
childhood, is a grateful task to her friends, and to 
those who did not know her may serve as some guide 
to the appreciation of her subsequent life. 

In the fall of 1871, when nearly fourteen years of 
age, Florence Shearer was entered as a pupil in the 
Eclectic Institute, Baltimore, Md., where she remained 
for three years under the care and tuition of Mrs. Leti- 
tia Tyler Semple, the principal. During these years 



Memoir. 7 

she enjoyed the full confidence and affection of Mrs. 
Semple and her assistant teachers. As the result of 
her school career, she returned to her home in Moore- 
field ''with a necklace of medals around her throat 
and a diploma in her hand." 

Mrs. Semple says of her that she set ' ' an example 
of obedience, fidelity and earnestness of purpose to all 
around her, ' ' and that * ' in all the three years, she 
received but one demerit from any of her teachers." 

While at school in Baltimore, Florence attended 
Emmanuel Church, then under charge of Dr. Ran- 
dolph, now Bishop Randolph, of Virginia. She was 
presented by him for confirmation during her last 
year at school, and always spoke gratefully of his careful 
and thorough instruction and of the help she received 
from him as her pastor. Under such training she 
became not only a staunch but an unusually well in- 
formed Episcopalian, showing wonderful familiarity 
with the History, Doctrine, Discipline and Worship of 
the Church she so dearly loved. 

This ardent and intelligent attachment to the Church 
of her choice, received abundant illustration in her life 
in Moorefield, from 1874, on her return from school, 
to 1882, the date of her marriage, a period of eight 
years. 

The story of these years of quiet, patient, judicious 
and earnest work for Christ and the Church, remain 
yet to be told. I am not sufficiently familiar with the 



8 Memoir. 

details to attempt it myself; suffice it here to say that 
by the gift of a considerable body of land, our few 
church people in Moorefield were encouraged to orga- 
nize a parish and to undertake to build a Church. 

The difficulties in the way, however, were very 
great ; and in all fairness and charity it must also be 
said that the prejudices against the Episcopal Church 
were very strong. The little band of our church people, 
some of whom have now gone to their rest, labored on 
with zeal and perseverance and by the blessing of God 
were enabled at last to have a home of their own, and 
worship in a beautiful church, which I consecrated for 
them, free of all debt, to the service and worship of 
Almighty God. Much might be said and much ought 
to be said of that small but devoted band, but I always 
found that by common consent, the foremost place of 
influence and effective power was given to the gentle 
and earnest spirit of Florence Shearer. In the choir, 
in the Sunday school, in every department of church 
work in which her service would tell, it was freely 
given, and her pure and sweet influence throughout 
the community was in every movement felt to be the 
power behind the throne. 

On the 5th of September, 1882, it was my privilege to 
officiate at the wedding of Florence with the Rev. Jacob 
Brittingham, a Presbyter of the Diocese of West Vir- 
ginia, having charge of various churches and missions 
in the neighborhood of Parkersburg and resident at 



Memoir. 9 

my own house in that city. Here she lived about a 
year and from this time my closer acquaintance with 
Mrs. Brittingham dates. She quickly won her way 
to the hearts of everyone of my household and we all 
felt her loss very keenly when Mr. Brittingham moved 
to Clarksburg, having been placed in charge of Christ 
Church. While in Parkersburg, Mrs. Brittingham 
was a very active member of the congregation. In the 
Sunday School, the Industrial Mission School and the 
Mother's Mission, she found objects for sympathy and 
room for work and the parish has long felt the inspir- 
ation of her example. The dates of her poems show 
that her literary activity begun while living at my 
house. We were not aware at the time that she was 
doing such work, though we could not but recognize 
her rare and graceful culture ; for her writing, whether 
of prose or verse, was with her rather a rest and pas- 
time. The main purpose of her life was ever her 
*■ ' Master' s business. ' ' 

It was thus during the busy days of her married 
life, when many household and parish duties claimed 
her thought and energies, and especially during the 
short visits that she would make to the old home in 
Moorefield, that she found recreation and relief for an 
active mind in writing short stories and poems, and 
articles of one sort or another. Some of these have 
already found their way into print and some are now 
published, for the first time, in this volume. 



lo Memoir. 

The pastorate of Mr. Brittingham in Clarksburg, 
extended over a period of about six years and was a 
time of steady growth — a marked epoch in its history. 
To this faithful and successful work of my dear 
Brother, his wife, who was in every way a help-meet 
for him, contributed very largely. The church in 
Clarksburg owes a great deal to Mrs. Brittingham. 
To labors similar to those of which I have spoken as 
employing her time in Parkersburg, she added the 
work of a Bible class for young men which afterwards 
developed into a large class of both sexes — married 
or single. For this, her qualifications both of head 
and heart were exceptional. Those whose privilege it 
was to attend this class gratefully remember her clear 
and faithful Bible teaching, and recall with constant 
pleasure the charm of her gracious presence. In addi- 
tion to church work and Bible-teaching, she also 
instructed a class of young ladies in English Literature 
and French, and was always active in advancing liter- 
ary culture in this and other communities in which 
she lived. But it ought to be said that Mrs. Britting- 
ham was not one of those persons whose energies are 
altogether expended outside of her own home. On 
the contrary, in that house as in the parish, her 
thoughtfulness and helpfulness were apparent. Nat- 
urally self-reliant she had after graduation preferred to 
make her own pocket and church money ; this she did 
by teaching and other work. The experience she 



Memoir. 1 1 

thus gained was invaluable to her in her married life. 
Not only did she manage her household affairs with 
wise discretion, with due regard to a limited salary- 
paid her husband by the church in Clarksburg, but by 
her indefatigable industry she made it possible to fur- 
nish for the most part the Rectory of St. Luke's 
Church, Wheeling, (where Mr. Brittingham moved in 
1889) and to put it in its present comfortable condi- 
tion. Her idea was to make it "parish-worthy" to 
use her own words. 

In St. Luke's parish she organized a circle of 
King's Daughters, and also had a Bible class for young 
ladies which met at the Rectory every Saturday night. 

To be an organizer and leader in such work she was 
eminently fitted, because, to use the words applied to 
Frances Ridley Havergal, "she had such transparent 
candor, such delicacy of conscience, such strength of 
affection and will, such thoughtfulness of others, such 
forgetfulness of self. ' ' 

We are not, however, to suppose that Mrs. Britting- 
ham' s energies were limited by the bounds of the par- 
ish where she lived. As an illustration of her wider 
sympathy, it deserves to be mentioned that she organ- 
ized a branch of the Woman's Auxiliary in Clarksburg, 
certainly among the first in the Dioceses. In St. 
Luke's, Wheeling, she effected such an organization, 
the first of its kind in the city. 

Miss Emory writes of her: "We, in the Woman's 



12 Memoir. 

Auxiliary, are great losers by the death of Mrs. Britt- 
ingham. It was always a pleasure to hear from her; 
her interest was so true an4 her wish to help so ready. 
I cannot but feel that, even beyond her own home and 
the limits of the parish, she must be missed indeed. 
But if the loss is felt, the influence must be felt too, 
and when such are taken it seems as though it must 
remain with those who are left to do better service 
than heretofore." 

It was the very earnest desire of myself, and of my 
household, to have Mrs. Brittingham come to Park- 
ersburg on the occasion of the meeting of the Four- 
teenth Annual Council, which was fixed for Wednes- 
day, June, 3rd, 1 89 1. 

To make sure of it I began to make arrangements 
long before and it was understood that both she and 
her little son Philip would come with Mr. Brittingham 
and stay with me at the old home. So we planned, 
and for months looked forward to what we all thought 
would be a happy reunion; but it was not to be. On 
Sunday April 26th, 1891, at half-past eleven at night, 
her pure spirit took its flight from this world. ' ' The 
silver chord was loosed, the golden bowl was broken," 
the precious dust was ready to return to the earth as it 
was, while the spirit sprang unto God who gave it. 

On Sunday March 22nd, being the Sunday before 
Easter, I visited St. Luke's Church in the evening and 
took tea at the Rectory. I did not, however, see Mrs. 



Memoir. 13 

Brittingham as she was reported indisposed for several 
days. It was thought that she might be entering 
upon an attack of the prevalent ' ' Grippe ' ' and it was 
hoped in a few days she would be better. It turned 
out to be the beginning of the typhoid fever, 
which after thirty-nine long and weary days did its 
fatal work. Throughout her sickness she was calm 
and patient and up to the last two days her mind was 
perfectly clear. She realized that she was seriously 
sick and calmly spoke of the probability of death and 
said she had no fears. It was because * * she knew 
whom she had believed and was persuaded that He 
was able to keep that she had committed to Him." 

When, on the afternoon of the thirty-seventh day 
delirium seized her, there was nothing distressing 
about it. Her mind naturally wandered through 
scenes and among subjects most familiar to her. She 
went through some of the Evening Prayer and then re- 
peated the first lines of several of the familiar evening 
hymns. She then breathed out her desires and aspi- 
rations to God in words of her own choosing. On 
Sunday morning, her last day on earth, she seemed to 
be a little better and her mind was clear enough to 
recognize all the members of the family who were 
gathered around her, making cheerful and even play- 
ful recognition of their presence. At eleven o'clock 
she listened attentively to the prayers her husband 
read by her bed-side, distinctly joining in repeating the 



14 , Memoir. 

Lord's Prayer. From this time on she had little to 
say; indeed she soon dropped into an unconscious con- 
dition which continued to the end. 

I need not say that everything that loving friends 
and skillful physicians could do for her, was done. 
Her faithful and devoted brother, Dr. Philip T. Shearer 
(who was Health Officer of the City of Wheeling, and 
died of the same terrible disease six weeks later)and an- 
other physician were in constant attendance. But, He 
who is too wise to err and too good to be unkind, see- 
ing all with a clearer vision than that granted to our 
dim eyes, found that it was ' ' better for her to depart 
and to be with Christ." Shall we not say "even so 
Father for so it seemed good in thy sight. " 

And now my grateful task is done. I have attempted 
to write a brief sketch and not a eulogy of my dear friend. 
These few lines may serve to recall her gracious pres- 
ence to those who knew her and give to others some 
idea of what they can never, in this way, fully know, 
how sweet, pure, gentle and full of blessing was the 
life we have lost for a little while from our more active 
fellowship. 

It will not be thought improper I trust for me to say 
in conclusion that I count it one of the chief pleas- 
ures and privileges of these latter days of my life, that 
I enjoyed the acquaintance and friendship of Florence 
Brittingham. The remembrance of all our association 
is sweet and I doubt not will remain green and fragant in 



Memoir. 15 

the years that are to* come. I shall always think of 

her as 

"A perfect woman, nobly planned, 
To warn, to comfort and command, 
And yet a spirit still, and bright 
With something of an angel light. " 

Rt. Rev. George W. Peterkin D. D. 

Bishop of West Virginia. 

Parkersbiirgh, W. Va., Feb. 25th, 1892. 



POEMS. 



MY FRIEND. 

A seedling by the wayside lay^ 
Escaping notefrofn day to day; 
Then came a careful hand a7id true 
Who planted; and there it grew 
To be a spreading tree^ fiill high^ 
Dispensing good both far and 7iigh. 

-Parkersburg^-Octobery 1882, 



Poems, 19 



EIGHTEEN EIGHTY-SEVEN. 

BY the clock I am told 'tis eleven, 
And the spirit of this Christmas-even 
Now enters my heart with its cheer, 
To retrospect calmly the year 
Of Eighteen Eighty-Seven. 

However so nobly we've striven. 
With motives all sanctioned by Heaven, 
Some lurking and taunting regret 
Will torture and cumber us yet. 
Oh Eighteen Eighty-Seven! 

By what e'er our hearts may be riven, 
One guerdon is never deceiving — 
To revel in memories of friends 
Whom prompt recollection now blends 
With Eighteen Eighty-Seven. 

'Tis wisely and rightfully given 
That some of this happiness leaven, 



20 Poems. 

Should mingle its ' ' couleur de rose ' ' 

With thoughts that hallow the close 

Of Eighteen Eighty- Seven. 

May the Christ whom we both believe in, 
To have aided our effort at living, 
That the leaf which is now folded down, 
May hold in reserve a bright crown 
For Eighteen Eighty- Seven. 

— Clarksburg, Xmastide, 1887, 



TO N. E. 1888. 

A MERRY, merry bird, 
A stranger to the bough, 
Has risen phoenix-like 

From one who died just now. 

His song is rich and clear 
As any bird of Spring, 

By intuition fine 

I know him swift of wing. 



Poems. 21 



A bird of passage he 

Whose coming none could stay, 
He'll for awhile abide 

Then wing his flight away. 

The secret of his song 

The wisest cannot tell ; 
A chant for every day, 

And every month as well. 

There'll be some notes of woe, 

And many trills of joy; 
Dispair will have its tones 

And love, without alloy. 

But as the hours roll by 
Within the coming year. 

The warbler's mystic chime 
Deciphered will be clear. 

O birdie! sing for us 

A song of hope renewed. 

Of faith divinely blessed, 
And sanctifying good. 



22 Poems. 



So shall thy notes with ours 
Harmoniously blend, 

While not a discord mars 
The year unto its end. 



OCTOBER. 

SOME days there are with happiness inwrought ; 
Fair nature whispers love, and high o'er-fraught 
With blessings from her store, the laughing hours 
Glid gently by and free disburse in showers 
Such keen delights as mortals never know. 
Except when rare October's sunsets glow. 

T'is then the river finds its lulling tone; 
The wind, enfranchised from the dreary moan, 
Sinks to a zephyr soft, who's guileless play 
Scarce tips the daisy 'long the king's highway. 
The flowers the poppy's secret sure have found; 
T' is natures dream not yet in slumber drowned. 



Poems. 23 

The heavens bend nearer, earth is now so fair; 

Vast multitudes of sprites from upper air 

Descend and their sweet ministry intrude; 

They league with frost-elves in the lichened wood, 

Lay fructifying touch on forest grape, 

While glebe-land with discol'ring fringe they drape. 

Heap high the bonfire of Time's gloomy days. 

And with ascending smoke the heavens o'er haze; 

Veil with the same the sun's autumnal heat; 

By river path romantic tales repeat, 

Then join creation in its glad refrain. 

Cheat death of all its semblance, all its pain. 



CONFIDENCES. 

THE flowers have whispered a secret 
Which gossiping winds cannot know; 
E' en zephyrs were still by vale and hill, 
As I bent my ear quite low. 

The news joy-giving now slumbered deep. 
Close locked in my bosom true; 



24 Poems. 

There Is not one shall know what was done, 
I vow, by my troth, save you. 

T'was my lover came for me last night, 

And lingered near the gate; 
I would not come so he hied him home, 

When the clanging hour spoke late. 

With loitering step and longing eyes. 

He dallied round the place; 
" He'd wait for hours," he sighed to the flowers, 

** Just to see her bonny face." 

Now that I know my lover is true, 

I shall saunter down to-night. 
And if he be near the gate-way tree, 

I to him my faith will plight. 

If all transpire as I'm sure It will, 

The happiest maid I'll be; 
I'll build some bowers to honor the flowers. 

Who the secret kept for me. 

—June, 1888. 



Poems. 55 



GAUDEAMUS IGITUR, 

THERE are those who grow prosaic 
Mid this fleeting life of ours, 
As they trace a dull mosaic 
Unrelieved by glint of flowers. 

I, mayhap, some gleesome spirit, 
Dowered with a brighter range. 

Do but cross their path, or near it ; 
From without the fret and change 

Of the bounding life around them, 
They will stop to sneer and frown, 

And from favored heights beyond them 
Seek to drag the blest one down. 

But we thank our God devoutly, 
There are others in the race 

Who will wield the cudgel stoutly 
For the higher-up in place. 



26 Poems. 

Those who will promote the welfare 
Of the neighbor living by, 

Tho' it be no prime advantage 
To the potentate called I. 

Then just let the gruesome shadows, 
Journey on abreast the clay, 

But we'll join the nobler army — 
Those who brighten up the way. 

—July 6ih, iS8S. 



AFTER-GLOW. 

BY radiant beams the western hill is aureoled; 
Dense folds of gray 
Veil now the form, erstwhile so animate, 
Of sun-born day. 

From out his glorious, iridescent home, 

He, nature's priest. 
Sends forth his hallowing, canonizing power 

For day deceased. 



Poems. 27 

Afar above the gloaming's darkening tints, 

The sainted one 
Gleams bright and reassuring glances down 

The earth upon. 

We, down among the shadows, hearts a-throb 

And, trembling so, 
Forget a restoration till we list 

The after-glow. 

When dies the day within the human soul; 

When clouds of grief 
Veil from our sight the frail weak frame of clay — 

Nowhere relief. 

We, down among the shadows, sink o'er- whelmed. 

Unless we turn 
The eye of faith to where the Eternal Son 

Doth ceaseless burn. 

The aureole of good deeds, touched by one ray 

From Source Divine, 
Transformed, becomes a glorious crown, which shall 

Forever shine. 
—Juty 26th, 1888. 



28 Peems. 



ONLY AN INCIDENT. 

OH! a day of wild merriment, frolic and fun, 
Was the tournament day, and I think every one 
In the shade of the grove on the broad-backed plateau, 
Felt a fine flow of spirits, all faces aglow 
With those sentiments grand, of love's chivalry born. 
Which may even the brow of the humblest adorn. 

The excitement of struggle and contest was past, 
And the trumpeter brash, with stentorian blast, 
Roused the slumbering echoes anear and afar. 
As the knights in response to the summons of war, 
Now forsook the sham battle of lances and steeds 
To essay an old path which to danger oft leads. 

'Tis the time when each knight who success can 

declare. 
Must elect a fair partner his honors to share; 
While most keenly elert and vivacious are they 
Who are certainly pass^ a year and a day; 
Those naive little maids, some of whom will be asked. 
Have their countenances in indiiference masked. 



Poems. 29 

The brave Knight o' Gude Luck who crowns Beauty 

as Queen, 
Is as fine gallant youth as you ever have seen; 
He directly advances ( not caring who knows ) 
To a lassie whose cheeks flame with couleur de rose, 
While quite carelessly toying with ribbon and plume, 
He manoeuvres a whisper, tones foreign to gloom. 

** With your consent, the honor on you I'll confer." 
'* Oh! thank you," she said, ''but I always prefer 
That I the honor bestow. ' ' Her proud flashing eye 
His awkwardness fully revealed. Passing on by, 
'Twas another fair maid by a courtly speech caught, 
Whom the knight crowned with grace not innate but 
love-taught. 

Moorefieldy August i^ih, 1S8S. 



30 Poems. 



THE COMING OF THE STORM. 

ALL day the errant winds had sped 
Throughout the valley's length, 
To summon laggard vapors hence 

To swell the cloud-world's strength. 
Now grandly marched thro' evening' s gates, 

In panoply of war, 
The armies of the dread Storm King, 
Collected from afar. 

The distant boom to earth revealed 

The coming of the foe; 
The aspen leaves their faces hid 

As overcome with woe; 
The tallest trees 'gan signalling, 

Nodded the flowers the alarm; 
T'was telegraphed the valley through 

Those glories couch' d some harm. 

The glittering warriors of the west 
And sober veterans gray. 



Poems, 31 

Who hail'd from eastern homes and haunts 

To mingle In the fray, 
Their allied forces now combin' d 

Hard by the zenith's throne, 
And swore a mischlef-brewing pack, 

In surly undertone. 

Now flashed the gleaming pennon forth, 

Standard of all the clan. 
The sight of whose bright blazonry 

Appals the heart of man. 
To brave defence and safe retreat 

The leaguered worldlings swarm. 
In solemn hush, with bated breath 

The earth awaits the storm. 

Moorefieldy August 2^lh^ 1888. 



32 Poems, 



CHROMATIC. 

CUPID, the God of Love, was blind, 
So all ancient legends declare. 
But time, with miraculous touch, 

Has made him in progress to share 
By dow'ring his long sightless eyes 
With vision perceptive and rare. 

Dame Nature, aghast and in rage 

That any should insinuate 
A defect or a foible in work 

Acknowledged supremely create, 
Takes ample revenge and afflicts 

With chromatism Cupid elate. 

Now, though he no longer is blind, 
The crystalline lens, wrong-fashioned, 

Invests with all beautiful hues 
Each object of love impassioned. 

This most abnormal condition 

Gives rise, oftentimes, to clashing. 



Poems, 33 

The friends of a lover mislead, 

For his weal no longer can act, 
For he, were his sweetheart the worst, 

A very virago, in fact, — 
He'd think of her angelic- wise, 

And vow her a seraph exact. 

Within this queer chromatic realm, 
A shrew for a lovely maid goes, 

A girl with no blazon at all 
Heraldic insignia shows; 

The world topsy-turvy turned is 
To suit the caprice of the beaux. 

■Clarksburgh, 1888. 



34 Poe^ns 



H 



NATURE'S THIRD HEIRESS. 

IE hither, ye nymphs and ye naiads, 
Embowered in Summer's green! 
From the shade of the hill, the sylvan-arched rill. 
The depths of the pines with the echos a-thrill. 
From verdure-bound lakes where the wavelets are still, 
Hie hither! Sweet Autumn has come. 

She came on the beams of the morning. 

Her car by butterflies sped; 
Her beautiful face with a magical grace 
Beam'd bright as she regally stepped to the place 
Where handmaids of nature their trophies enlaced. 

To honor the newly-crowned head. 

Her raiment with color is glowing, 
Of the filmiest cobwebs spun, 
Where the rainbow hues of the glittering dews 
Lie cunningly prisoned, the cleverest ruse, 
To ensnare those obdurate hearts which refuse 
Their homage, tho' rightfully won. 



Poems. 35 

Her coming all beauty enhances, 
For far o' er land and o' er sea, 
There steals a soft haze down the glamouring daze, 
While the foliaged forest through all of its ways 
Is waving her colors and setting ablaze 
The leaves on many a tree. 

The glorious tints on the mountain 
Atone for the valleys brown; 
The shimmering screen o'er the meadows dark green, 
Sifts the changeable light abroad the fair scene; 
E'en the dropping of nuts the close boughs between 
Makes music the wide world 'round. 

Then come, let's enthrone the Autumn, 
And drain the wild cup of mirth; 
For what do we care for the locust boughs bare. 
Or the nipping of frost in the ' ' eager air, ' ' 
When we herald the reign of a queen so fair, 
Whose bounties enrich the earth. 

—i88S. 



36 Poems. 



AN AWAKEING. 

I HAVE honestly tried to love her, 
But I really never can; 
The one thing now is to tell her, 
Let her glances the pages scan 
That reveal my soul most completely 

In its soberly Plato-guise, 
Where the fiery zeal of the lover 
Has never yet had its rise. 

My books and my work and my studies, 

Have crowded completely out 
Those sentiment shades of feeling. 

Some men cannot do without, 
ril picture the case so consoling, 

That she through her tears can descry 
The form of some future adorer, 

A fellow far better than I. 

Of course there'll be weeping — the darling! 
Well ! Williams, a letter for me ? 



Poems, 37 

All daintly perfumed and written 

In characters firm and free. 
And this ? That she'll faithfully promise 

The same future friend to prove, 
As of late, where hallowing mem'ries 

Embalm her sisterly love. 

She sends me a card to her wedding — 

Ye saints! that's what I call cool. 
To think I've been duped by a woman 

Just like any other young fool. 
No! — I well know the reason she did it, 

(The fact that she loves me is plain,) 
' Twas such a temptation to jilt me. 

The truth is, she could' t refrain. 

I dallied too long on the border 

Of Hymen-enchanted land, 
While she with this other companion 

Has entered hand in hand. 
Hark ! far thro' the clustering bowers, 

The pealing of marriage-bell ; 
Ah me! that I ever should write it, 

My heart re-echoes a knell. 

-September 13th, 1888. 



38 Poems, 



EQUIPOISE. 

THE rains and the mists never cease, 
The waters assuage and increase, 
On earth there is never a day, 
But moisture is called into play; 
The dew-sprinkled sod. 
The spray-leaguered shore, 
The cloud-hooded mount, 
The bog-fettered moor, 
Attest well the vapor king's sway. 

The sun never halts in his course. 
Light from time can never divorce, 
On earth there is never a day 
But brilliance and splendor display; 

The light-nourished plant. 

The ray-crested morn. 

The eve's radiant glow. 

In a sun-castle bom, 
Are beauties no one would gainsay. 



Poems. 39 

This earth is a wonderful home, 
Where radiance and shadow both roam, 
The glare by the gloom is toned down, 
By contrast all beauties abound; 

The picture is made 

By light and by shade, 

The cloud-world must temper 

The sun-burnished blade, 
Whose fierceness all nature might wound. 

The heart has its sighs and its tears, 
Poor blighted hopes lie on their biers, 
Thro' life there is never a year 
Whose firmament always is clear; 

The sorrow-draped home. 

The envy-pierced name. 

The wreck of a life 

By false lights a-flame, 
Make wailing disconsolate, drear. 

But happiness surges in power, 
And mirth crowns a jovial hour. 
We never live through a whole year 
But musical chords greet the ear; 



40 Poems. 

Sweet smiles tell of joy, 
And closed finger tips 
Expand all too eager 
To press to the lips 
The full cup of gladness and cheer. 

The heart is a wonderful home, 
Which God does in mercy o'er-dome 
With clouds of adversity dark, 
Gilt-lined by a faith-kindled spark; 

A life of great worth 

An excellence rare, 

Diversified is 

By touches of care. 
The pleasure-strewn pathway to mark, 

—September 19th, 1888. 



Poems. 41 



COMPENSATION. 

UPON the swelling bosom of the lawn, 
There grew in verdure, beauty, strength and pride. 
Three stalwart trees, their branches spreading wide 
To sift the light in many a varied form. 

We revelled in their fresh' ning shade the while 

The shriv'ling grass grew bronzed with summer heat; 
The merry breezes loved their own to greet 

Amid the leafage rich in pleasure wile. 

Perhaps we loved too well the shade-strewn park. 
And by it were beguiled from duty's hest ; 
It may haX^e been here pleasure led her quest 

And failed the nobler things of life to hark. 

For when one morn we trod the olden paths, 
After a night of storm and lightning glare, 
'Twas over prostrate forms up-rooted there. 

All cradled like unto the reaper's swaths. 



42 ■ Poems. 

No consolation hovered 'round the slain, 

But looking upward whence the bolt had come, 
We gazed entranced at beauty's unveiled form, 

And nature's self assuaged the recent pain. 

' Twas full a fortnight later, as we fled 
The rich effulgence of the noontide glow. 
We idly stopped to note the copious blow 

Besprinkling deep-hued grass erst well nigh dead. 

Oh! this we felt was compensation meet 
For loss of what at first we ill could spare, 
To feast on flowers, to breathe a freer air, 

Find wood and field invite our tardy feet. 

Oh! ye who live o'ershadowed by great love, 
Who rest all thoughtless of the world beyond, 
Prepare ye now for when Euroclydon 

Shall from your clinging grasp your guard remove. 

And ye who downcast mourn and hopeless grieve 
For reason that some treasurs are inurned. 
Be ye assured sweet lessons can be learned. 

Would ye but now accept the great reprieve. 

— Clarksburgh, October 12th, 1888. 



Poems. 43 



CHRISTMAS. 

TO-DAY with importance is teeming, 
The crown-fash' ning hand of the hour 
Is busy empurpHng the Present, 
With royal insignia and power. 

Rash mortals mislead by the pageant, 

Vow willing submission to one 
Who thralls them with witching devices, 

And flits when her mission is done. 

To-morrow, a foe to the Present, 

Appropriates half of its dues, 
Deceiving with Chateaux en Espagne, 

Who tribute its false iris hues. 

But once in the year is ordained. 
That Present and Future must yield 

Their rival and oft luckless sceptres 
To one with the Conqueror's shield. 

'Tis a child of the past, nobly royal, 
A day ushered in by a star, — 



44 Poems. 

The star of earth's hopes and vague longings, 
In zenith at Bethlehem afar. 

This day all ablaze with the glory, 
From angelic robes and harps caught, 

Has never forgotten the story 
Enshrined and faithfully taught. 

To chronicle vict'ry forever. 

The signet on Time's page was set. 

Where Christmas, within the year's margin, 
Precludes e'en a chance to forget. 

O wonderful, wonderful Christmas! 

Thy glories can never be told. 
Though Present and Future sway humbly. 

To list *' the sweet story of old." 

As bells ring the music of Heaven, 
While worshippers echo the strain, 

Why doubt we that listening angels 
Waft higher the dying refrain ? 

O wonderful, wonderful Christmas! 

The thoughts from thy coming which spring, 
Can never find perfect fruition. 
Except in the courts of Our King. 
— Clarksburg h, 1888. 



Poems. 



45 



A NEW YEAR VISION. 

ANOTHER gate to-night op'ning upon 
The great broad avenue of the glad New Year, 
Now stands unhinged that there be no feud 
Unto the rush of countless myraids, 
That soon will jostle through the severed bars. 
I tremblingly draw near the mystic space 
Wherein the mile-stones of man's race are set, 
And while I search 'mong the fantastic lights — 
Those future signal-lights swung dim as yet — 
Search for some answer to my hopes and fears, 
Lo! man, drawn swift upon the car of time. 
Whose ponderous bell clangs twelve, enters the track 
New-laid for Eighteen Hundred Eighty-nine. 

Abreast the head-light, near this swaying train 

Of human life, floats on gilded wing 

Th' impersonation of the new born year. 

Winter, in likeness to our Mother Church, 

Waiting ahke at birth and burial, 

Receives with joy the newly born and crests 



46 Poems. 

With icy baptism his glowing brow. 
Thus, by disciplinary means is he 
Created nature's doughty warrior; 
And thus equipped he better able is 
To cope with all the dalliance of the Spring, 
The subtler influence of the Summer-time, 
Or hazy witchery of the Autumn day. 
Doubtless the veteran Winter broods the time 
When just a twelve-month hence, this eager one 
Shall finish an appointed course, and his 
Must be the hand amid December's snows 
To give a chaste and honored burial. 

We who have traveled many times the round, 
The ever circling, age-goaled round of years. 
Who oft have hushed the requiem of the old 
To join the chorused antherns of the new. 
We eyried ones can pierce with magic ken, 
The shadows of the nearing future life. 
Before the now impatient train begins 
Its fast and chequered move from hour to hour 
Now stationed close throughout the coming year. 

These are the revelations which we claim 

Through pale Experience's glass; note, mark, digest. 



Poems. 47 

For future reference. Earth's brightest things 

The favorite targets are for death, disease, 

Decay. Close scrutiny reveals at once 

The piercM heart through which the shaft went home; 

A gleaming whiteness there is but a tomb. 

The marble cut in character of love. 

That distant glimmer wan bespeaks a watch 

By sick or dying, birth or shrouded bier; 

Within the darkest corner of the plain 

Foul envy lurks couchant, to blast by guile 

The reputation of yon passer-by. 

The fairest garlands of the gay 

Are nothing worth the following day; 

Where wanton Pleasure holds her sway 

There Misery casts her shadowy way. 

But does no brightness 'lumine earth? 

Can vast experience find no berth 

For happiness and joy and mirth ? 

Oh! see ye where 
A white-robed maiden glides thro' air, 
Her mantle cinctured round with deeds 
Whose every record calms and speeds 
Broadcast towards the waiting hand 



48 Poems. 

A thousand balms for grief-bound man. 

'Tis Mercy followed close by Truth, 

In semblance to a stalwart youth, 

Whose firm and wrong-o'er- topping tread 

Numbers all errors with the dead. 

Peace, here and there, with sandalled feet. 

Flits tirelessly, a paraclete. 

While Love we meet at every turn. 

By moor or fell, on mount or burn. 

High over all, Hope's rainbow hues 

Make fair the sky of life, where views 

Domed o'er by clouds which erst were dark, 

Now kindled by a vital spark. 

Calm and revive the heart of man 

And harmonize one wondrous plan. 

So years and months and hours and days. 

Each takes its turn and shapes its ways 

To serve one purpose, great and high, 

To be revealed, bye and bye. 



Poems. 



49 



A MASTER TRAGEDIAN. 

THE morning dawned on silent, mist- veiled earth, 
The curtain drawn, to preparation due 
For the approaching bloodless tragedy, 
Bloodless, 'tis true, but not less harrowing; 
For danger is the ruling element 
In all the conclaves of the powers of air. 

At the appointed time, the bluster wind 
Rent swift (no time for histrionic art) 
The low-hung drapery of shielding cloud. 
Upon the landscape sketch, in black and white. 
The stormhand came with all its clenched strength; 
And who may tell the havoc focalized ? 
Those unresisting ones of nature's school 
Swayed their lithe forms to let the storm pass by. 
Or measured out their length upon the wold. 
But look! Where man's opposing brick and frame 
Looked vaunting forth but just an hour ago. 
Now blackened sight and bandages required 
To swathe them back to usefulness again. 

E 



50 Poems. 

No loss of human life! 'tis wonderful! 
The God of mercy rideth on the storm. 
But what of man's revenge for labor lost? 
Ask of the scattered winds that now return 
To soothe anew the fevered brow to peace. 

O puny man! Thou'rt vanquished by a breath! 
Thy pride is lowlier now than earth-sprawled vine, 
Or than the buried grain's unconscious glow. 
A miserere might' st thou sing each day, 
Were there not compensations waiting where 
Man's feeble powers may angels', e'en eclipse, 
In that bright Future past this Trial Time. 

— Clarksburgh, January loth, i88g. 



Poems. 51 



''THY WILL BE DONE." 

RESIGNED! We say It o'er and o'er; 
No meaning does it bring, 
Not e'en when grief, Time has in store, 

Comes with its piercing sting. 
Transfixing deep on heart and brain 
A ceaseless, well-nigh blasting pain. 

Resigned! The balm the word contains 

Is granted to God's heroes. 
Who find the iron mail of pain 

Protects from gasdy foes; 
Those cunning foes of spirit frame 
Whom naught can daunt but one dread Name. 

Resigned! O, Jesus make us see 

Thee mirrored in each scene, 
That, shifting, meets our human sight 

Each act of life between. 
To blend the will with Thine, O Lord, 
Attunes man's soul to Heaven's chord, 
Clarksburgh, January 14th, 1889. 



52 Poems. 



RECEPTION. 

THE pattering rain came down in play 
Gleefully o'er the earth one day, 
To find outstretched on taut-drawn line 
A woven fabric, brilliant, fine. 
With crystal edge and mocking tear 
It drew the life-blood, darkly clear, 
Skirmishing down in streaming flood. 
The dye to seek its native wood. 
Where color massed in pristine force 
Learns harmony from nature's source. 

But scarce a stone's cast yon away, 
A comely blossom, brightly gay. 
Received with waiting grace the shower. 
And hurried quick to nuptial bower, 
The drop whose added strength and power 
Sustained the life of herb and flower; 
That life which in the sultry heat. 
But for the rain, had ceased to beat. 



Poems. 53 

Tis thus within the higher realm 

When floods from Heaven do man o'erwhelm, 

The soul deep-dyed in worldly art, 

Which lives estranged from God apart, 

Sends issuing forth a fetid stream 

Where streaks of error darkly gleam; 

Back to the circumstantial world 

That soul's artistic grace is swirled, 

The borrowed good which was its pride 

Sails swiftly out on sorrow's tide. 

But when the showers of grace inpour 
Through Faith's high-portal' d, opening door, 
The waiting Christly soul doth speed 
To receive the draught as God decreed, 
And send it pulsing thro' each vein 
Until the quickened life attain 
A stature, beauty, fragrance, zest, 
Accounted of earth's good things, — best. 

■Clarksburgh, Febmary 20th, i88g. 



54 Poems. 



LIFE. 

RESTING one eve, close wrapped in musing plight, 
I marked the play of fire on fresh-heaped coal, 
So toilfuUy the flame-points polished bold 
The dusky sides, until the glancing light 
Told forth a master-piece, whose structure bright 
Spoke bondage by a glowing power controlled. 
Life's quivering flame-tongues thus at length made 
gold 
From crude material mined in earthly night. 
When fiercest life-heat can achieve no more 

Than send its radiant image through each part. 
Then slow o'er all there creeps a wid'ning score 
Where Death writes ' ' Finis ' ' in the dust-lapsed 
heart. 
But freed as smoke, from Life's residuum. 
The soul in heights celestial finds its Home. 

— Clarksburgh, February 24th^ 1889. 



Poems. 55 



THE WISDOM OF THE LILY. 

ABUTTTERFLY wooed a blossom, 
A lily stately and tall, 
None else would suit the gay rover. 
But Queen of the flowers all. 
The twilight wooing was whispered to me 
By gossiping Vesper from Windy-mere-lee. 

* ' O suitor from regions of air, 

My chosen thou never cans' t be; 
A clog to thy wings would I prove, 
Nor yet coulds't thou dwell with me; 
The union of winglets and rootlets can ne'er 
Approved stand by any; so, kind friend, forbear.' 

My winglets no hinderance shall be; 

To-night in Butterfly Hall 
I clip ofl" these vain adornments. 
In presence of comrades all. 
If only my bride, O Lily, you'll be, 
You'll find I can dwell forever with thee. 



56 Poems. 

' ' Surely you know, ' ' said the lily, 

** The loss of your wings would be death; 
Bend close, lest Vespers be stirring, 
I'll whisper you under my breath — 
A brilliant-winged princess has placed a light 
In Honey-Moat Tower; so, dear friend, good-night!" 

A rustle of wings thro' the gloaming 

Announced the suitor had fled; 
A wafting of delicate perfume, 

The bending of pollen-crowned head; 
Away through the foliage there trembled a gleam 
Which ended forever a butterfly's dream. 

I pondered me well the lesson 

Carried by eaves-dropping wind. 
While thinking that maidens and lovers 
A wholesome rebuke might find; 
While stripping the wings from ambition and pride 
They force them with lowlier love to abide. 
— Clarksburgh, March 6th ^ 1889. 



Poems. 57 



ONE NIGHT'S LESSON. 

THE outlined bough sketched dark on star-spiked 
zone, 
Writes hieroglyphs, night's presence to condone; 
The winged tenants of the upper air 
Couch close in nestled homes, protected there; 
The mystic rites of Nox are held on high, 
And living creatures dare not venture nigh; 
The reckless bat just skirts the hither edge. 
Then swift his safety seeks by moor and sedge; 
The drowsy hum of Hfe hugs tight the earth. 
To sleep hard by the clod whence sprang its birth; 
Accompaniment to silence great nocturne 
Finds consonance from peak to lowly bourn; 
The stone- voiced stream, the sough of stricken air. 
Feature the rustic night-scene everywhere. 
The night of Death looms black, despairing, cold. 
Life shrinks reluctant from the curtain-fold; 
But cast adrift, beyond the portal light, 
The spirit finds up in the sombre height. 



58 Poems. 

Great gem-like promises glow through the dark, 
Life's harmonies grow fuller as we mark, 
'Tis nothing but a mountain crest doth hide 
The light unfading on the farther side. 

— Moorefield^ June, i88g. 



PYGMALION AND GALATEA. 

PRISONED within the marble's veiling arm, 
There slumbered long a shape of beauty born; 
Walled solidly from peering human sight. 
Until the hand of genius came to smight 
The stony bonds. 

Deftly and well the chisel's work was done. 
Swiftly the yielding shackles, mallet-hewn, 
Fell free, revealing to the artists eye 
The mocking ideal of his dreams, whose shy 
Sweet life he'd found. 

But soft! the statue knows not motion, speech; 
The lowliest man, the poor, the ignoble, each 



Poems. 59 

Can boast an essence greater than the form 
Which all possessing, still lacks one great charm — 
The gift of soul. 

Pygmalion knelt, his life staked on one hope. 
His passion's being venting its full scope 
In eager pleading prayer to mighty Jove 
T' endow man's handiwork with soul and love, 
To crown the whole. 

The suit swift gained the ear of heaven's lord; 
While god and goddess list the potent word, 
The lovely Galatea blushed to live. 
Stepped lightly down her wondering tryst to give 
Pygmalion, joyed. 

Morality the man-carved statue is 
Prefigured in such olden myth as this; 
She of the faultless, captivating pose 
Who thralls her sculptor' s heart, but knows 
No vibrant chord, 

And unresponsive must she ever be, 
Unless the builder of her symmetry 



6o Poems. 

Pray God to touch her with the spark divine, 
To speed the Christly nature to combine 
With human art. 

No thing of greater beauty can be found 
In all the boundless universe around, 
Than human virtue blushing in its need. 
Awaking to show forth by nobler deed. 
The Christ-now heart 

—Moorefield, July, 1889. 



Poems. 6 1 



QUESTIONINGS. 

MYSTERY waits upon life when it comes 
New from the hand of its God; 
Mystery veileth the humble head-stone 

Where late the mourner hath trod; 
Mystery! mystery! anguished we cry, 
A mystery we live, a mystery we die. 

Thoughtful or careless, as time passes on, 

Questions profound will intrude; 
Why is the soul uncongenial to mine 

Forced in my shelter to hood? 
Why must I take in my bosom to warm 
The serpent whose rousing will do me most harm? 

Why, when my volume of years that are past, 

Sighing but thankful I shelf. 
Malice must come, and, detaching the leaves. 

Sell out my secrets for pelf? 
Why should a stone-cast, from alien hand sped 
Circle my life with an ominous dread? 



62 Peenis. 

Why do my plans parasite and entwine 

Close where my enemies stop, 
So when the fruit of my labor matures, 

Cunning hands loosen the prop, 
Trailing my honor, my pride, in the dust, 
Leaving me pennance and suffering unjust? 

Soul! wouldst thou know where the answers are writ? 

Not in the world's puzzling lore; 
But sealed for thee in the great book of life, 

Awaiting thy coming ashore, 
Where eons on eons will scarce satisfy 
Thy questions to meet with God's own reply. 

— Moorefield, July J2th^ i88g. 



Poems, 63 



A LONGING. 

OLET me die, before 
The portals of the mind are clouded o'er, 
Dimming the once keen vision of the occupant 
And changing friend to foe in mocking jargonry. 

Yes, let me die, 
Before I lose the priceless power 
To send the thrilling spirits of the hour 
On missions born of thought; ere they 
In tricksy guile and pageantry 
Escape to torture me and those I love. 

I fain would die, 
Before I note the tear 
Steal to the eye, which watching near, 
Can naught express but pity, sorrow, fear; 
And loved ones even flee the darkened tomb. 
Where not a ray of reason lights the gloom. 
Nor weeping Hope can aureole the doom. 



64 Poems. 

O Father, let me die, 
Unmarked by trace of earth's decay, 
Ecstatic thus to pass away, 
T' expand the spirit, soul and mind 
In heights of love, now undefined, 
Where Thou e' er dwellest with Thy ransomed kind. * 

— Wheeling, October ^th^ i88g. 



TO DUTY WED. 

WITH form so wearily drooping, 
A maiden stood 
In solitude, 
Where the brook frets on to the ocean; 
To false love her hearts been stooping. 
The memory wakes emotion. 

A formal farewell was resting 
On bosom true, 
Full loyal, too. 



*The fourth verse of this poem was rewritten by Mrs. Brittingham two 
or three days before her serious.and fatal illness. 



Poems. 65 

While the writer far was roving; 
'Tis hard with the heart protesting 
To cure a wound made by loving. 

Pathos wreathed in 'mong the tresses, 

O'er brow so fair, 

The ringlets there 
Caress and Madonna the face; 
Fine lashes conceal the distresses 
A careless glance never will trace. 

A bright-plumaged soarer swept by, 

A bud of Spring 

Touched by his wing 
In beautiful curves fell swaying; 
There was a touch of blossom far and nigh, 
Where seedlets of Autumn were maying. 

'Tis hardest when Spring is fledging 

Her white winged germs, 

To serve their terms 
In blade, leaf, flower and fruiting, 
'Tis hardest then to be wedging 
In young life sorrow's sharp rooting. 

F 



66 Poems. 

But back in her home 'neath the willow, 

To duty wed 

Her life on sped, 
Not far from the quaint old town, 
Quite nigh to the stout white pillar, 
Where they buried the first mile down. 

Whene're now the Spring comes wooing 

Each gossiping gale 

To carry the tale 
Of love in its thousand caprices; 
She, pleasure the less persuing, 
In struggle and toil never ceasing. 

— Moorejleldy August, i88^. 



DEATH. 

"HEN light, and heat, and toil, and din, 
I found so wearying, 
God's rest my soul o' ershadowing, 
I sank to sleep therein. 

— WJieeling, 



w 



Poems. 67 



THE HIGHER WISDOM. 

I YEARNED to be useful, 
My quick eager feet 
Would bound thro' earth's highways 

Each duty to meet. 
But lo! in the noontide 

Of life I became 
A burden of burdens; 

O, the grief and the shame! 

I sought in my quenchless 

Ambition to scale 
Heights which no other 

Dared even assail. 
Yet God calmed my struggling, 

An humble place gave; 
Distilled for my comfort 

His grace which saves. 

I longed to o'ershadow 

The children of fame. 
To make all past toilers 

But carvers of names. 



68 Poems. 

Yet God made me follow 
The lowliest there, 

Then gave for my guerdon 
The Spirit of prayer. 

'Tis thus in my weakness 

That I am made strong, 
Born into the Truth, 

Close girdled with song; 
Glimpsing to wonder-heights 

Undreamed of, unknown. 
Yea, rising Heavenward, 

Nearer the Throne. 

— Wheeling^ October loth, i88g. 



Poems. 69 



LOVE'S WISDOM. 

NO, love, I came in the morning! 
O, never at night with thee; 
With stars your bright brow adorning 
You sparkle but signals of warning 
To pilot on Love's restless sea. 

I never could bear the scorning 
Which night's brilliant touches decree; 
No, never such dire forlorning 
For me. 

The day is my friend, mad with glee 
A jest it makes of my mourning; 
The sunbeams a guard are to free 
My worshiping heart, sweet, from thee 
When night comes my soul suborning 
I flee. 

Wheeling, October 23rd, 188^. 



yo Poems. 



'BLESSED ARE THE MERCIFUL." 

TWAS a fearful day in the winter-time 
The trees were bare and glum, 
Their branches stretching helplessly 
In sapless anguish dumb. 

The dash of rain against the. pane 
At times would cause a start; 

The roaring of the raging wind 
Sent shivers through my heart. 

In beaver clad there yonder passed 

The rich man of the town, 
The man whose iron coifers 

With gold were weighted down. 

While just behind with shoes patch-tiled 

Shrank poverty's wan child, 
She tried to shelter from the storm 

Close to the magnate's screening form. 

I, sash-upraised, called for the child 
But the mocking tempest wild 



Poems. 71 

Caught up my tones and murdered them, 
And buried them in oblivion. 

How glad I was to learn next morn 

The rich man, mercy great. 
Had blessed a struggling little life, 

That fell outside his gate. 



V^ VICTIS. 

A SHROUDED Fear came to my gate and knocked; 
I bade him enter, trembling though I was. 
Then stood on guard to grapple the dread guest. 
But when in clearer light I scanned him o'er 
I saw a conquered foe, slain yester-night. 
In combat which, my heart's best blood had drawn. 
I told him what he had not known before; 
For him there is no resurection power. 
Nor can he touch again my healed heart, 
Then driving him afar into the dark, 
I stood once more, a Freeman, doubly free, 
A victor over e'en the phantom Fear. 

— Wheeling, November i8th, 1889. 



72 



Poems. 



BORN— DIED. 

A winter's day. 

THE Day- God sped a love- tipped lance, 
Which, quivering,'soug-ht the Snow-Maid's heart; 
She, glowing from her chill night trance. 
With love-light set the world advance 
By tinting gay both dale and mart. 

This bridal of the sun, perchance. 
In Winter's jewelled dome apart, 
Forecast the birth of Beauty's glance 
In prism ic art. 

The snow-birds, festal-missioned, dart, 
A. vested choir; the thrill enhance. 
And one where shades of evening start 
Drank in the last cold tear — a smart 
Of sorrow o'er Love's vast expanse — 
Light's broken heart. 

— Wheeling. 



Poems. 73 



ONE SUMMER'S STORY. 

ONE little form we laid away to rest, 
In years but two, 
'Mid the tall grasses, in a daisy-nest, 
Fresh pearled with dew. 

Scarce had the anthem died upon the air. 

Earth's cradle song; 
Scarce had the echoes ceased weird revel there. 

The mounds among. 

When lo! the heart-dirge in Grief's minor key 

Changed quick, to swell 
Into the sweeping chords of joy, whose tones 

Subduing fell. 

For where a few short hours ago there slept 

Th' eternal sleep, 
A silent baby form, now lies warm-wrapped 

And breathing deep. 



74 Poems. 

A newly born. His coming was well-timed. 

New motherhood 
Pines not in grief away; all is sublimed 

And understood. 

Yet seldom is it man is soothed, the curse 

So blissful wise; 
For never yet has eager bud-scale burst 

'Neath deadly skies. 

Just as the leaflets brown on Autumn's breast 

Have sought repose, 
Their flutter and their duty-shading guessed, 

And solved, who knows ? 

'Twas life supplanting death, so swiftly tho' 

That human thought 
In wondrous awe forgets the anguish there 

Which sorrow brought. 

— i8go. 



Poems. 75 



QUATRAINS. 

MUSIC. 

MUSIC was born when chaos, darkness bound, 
Freed by the touch of earth's magician — Light, 
In melody its gratitude to sound. 
Struck clear the key of joy in Heaven's height. 

O music, sweet celestial! Pilgrim here, 

We hold thee bound by stings nigh wizzard-skilled, 
Yet never we thy spirit wed and share 

Except by years of service, freely willed. 

M usic is Life's best wine 

Served in the chalice wrought by toil; 
The draught elation brings 

Without the woe of base recoil. 



76 Poems. 



TO MY HUSBAND. 

OLD Time has been telling a story 
Of eight long years and a day, 
When you and I first knew each other, 
A wearisome time away. 

Fair Gladness has rung out her changes 
And Sorrow her notes prolonged, 

Amid the years' records and ranges 
Both sobbing and laughter are songed. 

You miss the soft touch of a mother, 
While I for a brother mourn; 

Communion transmutes tears to jewels. 
Loneliness turns them to stone. 

While Christmas bells ring out so holy, 
Subdued from their gladlier swell, 

We'll rival Old Time in his story; 
Of Life, not of Death, we will tell. 



Poems. 77 

Within the great past-world's embraces 
Our dead this blest Christmas-tide 

Strike fuller and sweeter their anthems, 
Not one jangling note to chide. 

I'd fain catch the strain of their voices, 

Will you not listen with me ? 
They'll teach us the gladness of sorrow, 

They'll aid us Jesus to see. 

-St. Luke's Rectory^ Christmas ^ 1890. 



TRIALS. 

TRIALS must and will befall" 
But, brother, 'neath the heaviest pall 
Comfort comes with nobler trend, 
And peace, when trials have an end. 

Wheeling, November i8th. iSSg. 



BERWICK'S MISTAKE. 



BERWICK'S MISTAKE. 

CHAPTER I. 

MADELEINE ON THE WAR-PATH. 

•* T TEIGH ! Berwick, wait forme. I'll join you in 

11 a minute." 

The voice proceeded from an up-stairs window, and 
while the boy on the side-walk lingered waiting, from 
within, through the open windows, on that bright 
spring morning, could be heard sounds of a school- 
boy's hurry. 

Harry Andrews, in his haste of course, snatched the 
wrong school satchel and did not discover until nearly 
to the front door that he was carrying off his little sis- 
ter's property. 

Back again he rushed, this time being more care- 
ful to secure his own satchel, and with a ringing 
'^ Good-bye, mamma, I'm off ! " he finally joined Ber- 
wick in the street. Arm in arm the two boys walked 
slowly along to school, talking earnestly. 

' * I wanted to see you particularly this morning. 



82 Berwick' s Mistake. 

Berwick, to ask if you are going to join the military 
company." 

" I am thinking very seriously of it, ' ' answered 
Berwick, '' though I have not yet broached the subject 
at home. You know my mother and sister are fool- 
ishly nervous about me, and I am afraid to mention 
my desires in this matter until I have fortified myself 
to meet all possible objections. 1 want to have my 
reasons for joining the company so strong that they 
will overcome all opposition." 

* '■ I don' t see why I always have to blurt out things 
so suddenly, because I often end by ' making a mess 
of it.' If I had acted with some deliberation perhaps 
papa would have given his consent; but as it is, his 
refusal has made me give up all idea of entering the 
company. ' ' 

"Oh! Harry, lam so sorry. The more I think 
over it, the more anxious I am to join, and I had 
hoped you would be in the ranks too. Is your father's 
refusal decisive ? ' ' 

"Yes," said Harry, and there was a tinge of keen 
disappointment in his tone entirely unlike its custom- 
ary light-hearted ring. 

* ' Perhaps he would change his mind if he knew I 
was to be one of the number," argued Berwdck. 
' ' We have just passed his office. Shall I go back and 
coax him for you ? ' ' 

"No, no!" Hariy ejaculated with unnecessary haste 



Berwick' s Mistake. 83 

and emphasis. * ' The captain has pleaded my cause, 
so has Mary, though Mamma and Ida side with Papa. 
But when Papa refuses me after he has taken time for 
consideration, as he has in this matter, I know it is 
useless to continue to beg. No, my fate is sealed. I 
shall be an envious looker-on while the other boys 
enjoy the fun and the glory. ' ' 

* ' But does your father give no reason for denying 
you this pleasure? " 

' ' Yes, he has spoken of two, though he says there 
are others that influence him." 

' ' What are the two' ' ? asked Berwick. ' * He says, ' ' 
continued Harry slowly, * ' that an enterprize like this 
is apt to gather in the roughs of the town and he had 
rather I wouldn't be thrown with them. Also, that 
I ought not to enter any organization without being 
prepared for all its emergencies." "Your father is 
entirely too particular with you, Hal; suppose the town 
roughs are in the company, they can't harm us there 
any more than they can on the streets every day. I 
tell you boys have got to be tried as well as men, and 
the sooner we learn to 'hoe our own row,' the better for 
us." Then happening to think there was another 
reason given, Berwick continued: "but what duties 
could arise in the company that you or I could not 
discharge ? What did he mean by emergencies ? ' ' 

"Why," explained Harry, "he said there might 
be a sudden call for troops, and after consenting to my 



84 Berwick' s Mistake. 

enjoying the benefits of the company he could not 
conscientiously hinder me from sharing its dangers." 

' ' Well ! of all reasons in the world, that is the last 
I would have thought of I don't suppose the nation 
can jump into war in a single night, and certainly if 
any evil of that kind threatens, minors would have 
plenty of time to withdraw. I am sorry, Harry, that 
your father's reasons do not influence me. I was 
hoping that for your sake I might find some creeping- 
out place." 

Long before the conversation had reached this point, 
the boys had come to the school-house, but instead of 
joining the other boys at play, they stood at the gate 
talking. Any reply that Harry might have made was 
prevented by the school-bell, at whose first tap both 
boys bounded through the yard, forgetting all else in 
their eagerness to be the first in the school-room. 
While the recitations are in progress we will have time 
to find out some facts bearing upon the lives of these 
two boys; facts not deducible from the foregoing 
conversation. 

Berwick Foster and Harry Andrews had been friends 
from early childhood, having grown up together in the 
little mountain village of Madeleine. As is so frequently 
the case in mutual friendships, the two boys were 
wholly unlike. Berwick, under proper home training, 
would have developed a sterling character ; but un- 
fortunately this essential of a well-balanced life was 



Berwick' s Mistake. 85 

lacking, for the boy in a measure had his own training 
in hand. At the time our story opens he was sixteen 
and phenomenally developed for a boy of that age. 
Being the only son of his mother, and she a widow — 
a widow with ample means, it is true, but a woman so 
weak and dependent that at the death of her husband, 
four years before, she had thrown all the family 
responsibility upon her twelve-year-old son — Berwick 
had matured rapidly, and in him resulted, unfortunately, 
a man's steadiness of purpose combined with a youth's 
unreasonableness and recklessness of consequences. 
Notwithstanding all her puerility of character, Mrs. 
Foster had gained a strong hold upon her son's 
affections and could always command his obedience ; 
Perhaps this influence over him was born of her 
idolatry, and her extravagant ideas of his abilities, 
which were no secret to the boy. 

The only other member of the family, except some 
valuable servants, was a crippled child, Berwick's 
sister Lucia, five years his junior. If such a thing 
was possible, the boy's aflection for his afflicted sister 
exceeded his love for his mother. Whenever Mrs. 
Foster felt there was any doubt about gaining a 
cherished point, it might be a wrong one, she had 
only to ask the boy to do it for his sister's sake, and 
there was no further trouble. 

Mr. Andrews knew Mrs. Foster well, being the 
lawyer in charge of her business, and he believed 



86 Berwick' s Mistake. 

that a boy trained, or rather untrained, by such a 
mother, was not a perfectly safe companion for his 
only son. In fact, he had always had his doubts 
about Berwick as a companion for Harry, not alone 
for the reason above given, but because the boy him- 
self did not impress him favorably. However, having 
no good reason to give Harry for severing the intimacy, 
he could not bring himself to wound his son and take 
from him a chosen friend because of a mere suspicion. 
His own intuition might be at fault, he argued, and 
surely he ought to trust Harry's perceptions somewhat 
even though often a youth of fifteen may misplace his 
confidence. Harry knew that his father did not fully 
approve of Berwick, and he had striven by every 
means in his power to vindicate his friend's character; 
nevertheless he had that morning restrained Berwick's 
impulse to plead for him because he knew such inter- 
cession would avail him nothing. 

In the midst of a gentle and lovely Christian home, 
Harry had developed naturally into a merry boy; his 
home influences were such that under the fun and 
boyish effervescence there was a solid stratum of 
genuine morality and Christian principle. While he 
was an object of devoted love to his mother, father 
and two sisters, yet they neither flattered nor pam- 
pered him, and so the moral atmosphere breathed by 
the two boys was, in most respects, wholly different. 
Having learned so much, we are now at liberty to 



Berwick's Mistake. 87 

return to the village school, where just one incident is 
of interest as having some deciding influence upon 
Berwick's wavering resolutions on the military ques- 
tion. 

Eager as he was to enlist, yet such was his affec- 
tion for Harry that he shrank from engaging in any- 
thing so absorbing from which Harry would be 
excluded, so he determined to weigh the matter well 
before taking any step. 

During a geometry recitation, a great over-grown 
lad was sent up to the board to demonstrate a prob- 
lem. He proved himself but poorly prepared with the 
lesson, and the more he struggled with his task the 
more deeply did he compromise himself and display 
his ignorance of the subject in hand. At last the 
patience of the teacher was exhausted, and he said 
sharply : " It is plain, Bergan Warner, that you 
have been idling. This is the second^ recitation on which 
you have failed to-day. This morning I heard you 
boast that you would be the tallest of the new military 
company now forming and so would over-top all 
others. I tell you the day is past when brute force 
and blood and muscle win the day, and there is now 
no King Frederick to pay a royalty to giants. Brains 
and intrinsic worth are now the controlling forces, and 
if you show as great deficiency in your new undertak- 
ing as you have this morning displayed in your pres- 
ent field of labor, I can see no chance of promotion for 



88 Berwick's Mistake. 

you, but only deep and deeper disgrace. Charles 
Morne will continue the demonstration." 

The tone and words of the teacher had caught all 
ears, and as the crest-fallen boy retired to his seat, 
Berwick forgot him in the train of new ideas started 
by the master's closing words. 

Promotion! The word roused all the ambition of 
Berwick's soul, and visions of a uniform with epau- 
lets and badges of authority now presented themselves 
as among the possible futurities of his connection with 
the military company. If he had been wavering, he was 
so no longer ; he determined that very evening to gain 
his mother's consent and then publicly announce his 
intentions. So eager was he to know her views and 
to settle the paramount question that he ' ' cut ' ' a 
game of foot-ball to which he was pledged after school, 
and hurried home. 

He found his mother and Lucia together, and div- 
ing at once into his subject he had soon laid the whole 
matter before them. Mrs. Foster saw that he had set 
his heart upon gaining her consent, and being ambi- 
tious for him and seeing no reason to forbid his being 
a soldier in a time of peace, she readily yielded to his 
solicitations. 

Every obstacle removed from his pathway and see- 
ing only encouragement to go his chosen road, Ber- 
wick hastened to report his enlistment and was enrolled 
as a member of the ' ' Madeleine Guards, ' ' the 
youngest of the company. 



Berwick' s Mistake. 89 

I do not know whether we are justified in making a 
"vice versa" of the old saying, 'Marge bodies move 
slowly," by putting it small corporations move quickly, 
but certainly it is that this miniature military enterprise 
had scarcely been fairly discussed by the gossips of 
Madeleine, before the glint of bright buttons was double- 
lining the windows with gazers, and the sound of 
* * order arms ' ' called the ubiquitous small boy to his 
post of open-mouthed admiration. Being a town 
without a railroad, hidden away among the mountains 
of one of our middle states, Madeleine welcomed any 
novelty and fostered any laudable undertaking ad- 
vanced by the public-spirited. Therefore during the 
spring and early summer months of 1877, the 
''Guards" drilled and drilled until their proficiency 
and importance became an acknowledged factor of 
Madeleine every-day life, and the citizens began to 
think there could be nothing more cheering than 
the rat-a-tat-tat of the calling drum. 

July, however, brought unexpected trouble, and the 
sleepy town opened wide its eyes over news brought 
by the mail coach of the marshalling of the militia of 
the Middle States to quell the "strikes" along the 
line of the B. & O. railroad. 

The consternation in our little mountain fastness was 
increased when the captain announced to his company 
that as the ' ' Guards ' ' were regularly organized and 
supplied with uniforms, rifles and all other military 



90 Berwick' s Mistake. 

accoutrements, it was probable theirs would be the 
next summons and they must hold themselves in readi- 
ness for duty. 

Sure enough early one sultry July morning a courier 
arrived with a dispatch from the Governor ordering 
' ' Madeleine Guards ' ' to Lowchester, to assist in 
quelling a riot there. With the dispatch came the 
news that one of the militia from a sister town had 
been killed and four others wounded, so evidently the 
summons meant there was fighting and danger to 
face. 

The majority were eager to go, the reluctant ones 
swallowed their chagrin, and all obeyed the Governor's 
mandate except four. In one case a substitute was 
procured whose father was unwilling he should act and 
raised such serious objections that the substitute was 
obliged to hide until the marching of the troops, when 
he came forth proudly and took his assigned place in 
the ranks. Another was sick, and the surgeon of the 
company was dispatched to investigate the ' case. He 
returned saying the man was really unfit for duty and 
must be excused. In the third case a father substitut- 
ed his older for his younger son, pleading sickness for 
the latter. The fourth delinquent was Berwick Foster. 
Nothing could have surprised the community more 
than to hear that Berwick was acting a cowardly part. 
' ' What Is the meaning of it ? " " Is it true ? ' ' were 
questions being generally asked, and for answer we will 



Berwick' s Mistake. 91 

have to repair to the boy's home and see just how 
matters stood there. 

Berwick was among the first to hear the news, and 
all excitement he rushed home and into the dining- 
room where his mother and sister were waiting his 
coming to begin the morning meal. 

''Oh! Mother," he exclaimed, ''our company is 
really going to fight. We have marching orders now. 

"Why, my son," remonstrated Mrs. Foster, incred- 
ulous yet fearing, ''are you bereft of your senses? 
You can not mean there is any call for active service. 
Explain yourself" 

•'You know, mother dear, we have been reading in 
the late papers of the strikes, and they have become so 
formidable that the troops are needed. Our special 
services are to be rendered at Lowchester and parts 
adjacent; so, mother, you must hurry and get me 
ready, as I suppose we will start in a few hours." 

'' You surely do not think of leaving us to go into 
such danger, do you, my son ? " 

•'Why, mamma, there is no question about it. We 
have been ordered and we must obey." 

"Obedience to parents is God's law, and man-made 
ordinances take a secondary place. You are a minor 
and I shall positively forbid your going, and shall also 
send a satisfactory message to your captain." 

" Oh ! mother, ' ' said Berwick turning pale, ' ' you 
must not do that. Such a course would mean disgrace 
for me." 



92 Berwick's Mistake. 

*' Youths under age are never expected or com- 
pelled to serve, so no disgrace can attach to my refusal 
to let you go; and granting your view correct, what is 
disgrace in a paltry military company compared to your 
precious life? If my commands have no weight with 
you, let your afflicted sister's prayers and tears bring 
you to a right view of the matter. ' ' 

Lucia had been crying silently ever since the conflict 
between mother and son began, and now her sobs 
became audible. Berwick thought he would try one 
last expedient and if that failed, he almost felt he 
did not care what became of him. Rising, he went to 
his sister and encircling her with his arm said, "Lucia, 
you must aid me in this. I can not bear the disgrace 
of staying behind." 

For one moment the child felt like pleading his 
cause, but so accustomed was she to depend upon her 
mother's opinions that she found it impossible to act 
independently. Anxiety for her brother also helped to 
banish the momentary yielding, and she replied 
between her sobs: "No, Berwick, mamma is right 
and you must not go. I can not, I can not consent to 
your going to be killed ! ' ' 

Seeing every avenue of hope closed to him, he hast- 
ily left the room and going into the yard back of the 
house, paced rapidly back and forth. He could have 
wept bitter tears, but then it was not manly to cry — 
no, he would leave that to Lucia. So he rapidly 



Berwick' s Mistake. 93 

revolved in his mind different plans for action and 
rejected each as they were presented. Positive diso- 
bedience, clandestine escape, and appeal to his cap- 
tain's authority, were all thought out and dismissed. 
Finally his habit of obedience and his affection for his 
mother and Lucia caused his decision to be all that 
either could have desired. ' ' It will not be so hard 
after all, ' ' he said to himself, ' ' and if any boy twits 
me for cowardice, I will first knock him down and then 
I will explain that I am obeying and protecting my 
mother. And the first thing will be to hunt up Harry 
Andrews and tell him my trouble. ' ' 

In the meantime Mrs. Foster had dispatched her 
man servant to the captain, stating by note her refusal 
to let Berwick go because he was under age. The 
self-important captain, ' * puffed up with a little brief 
authority, ' ' had returned answer that there were others 
under age going, and if her son did not appear at the 
proper time he would be court-marshalled and expelled 
from the company. ' ' Her reply to this bravado was 
a renewed and positive refusal to let the boy go, which 
so incensed the petty chief that he ordered some of 
the men to take their rifles and * 'bring the young man 
dead or alive. ' ' 

When Mrs. Foster saw from her dining-room 
window her servant running, and followed by a posse 
of armed men, she became nearly frantic. Running 
to the back door, she called to Berwick: " Run, 



94 Be7"wick' s Mistake. 

Berwick, run. The men are coming to shoot you. 
Quickly hide! To the cornfield!" 

This bomb-shell came upon the youth just as he 
begun to feel a little lighter of heart in the resolution 
to take his special friend into his confidence, and for a 
moment he was inclined to stay and face this strange 
turn of affairs, but seeing that his mother became half 
crazed in her efforts to get him away, and having pre- 
viously decided on obedience to her, with a bound he 
cleared a low fence near and was just about to plunge 
in among the waving corn, when shouts were raised in 
the street near by and voices reached him yelling: 
' * There he goes ! " ' ' Catch him ! " " The deserter ! ' ' 
' ' The coward ! ' ' 



Berwick' s Mistake. 95 



CHAPTER II. 

MISUNDERSTOOD. 



THE slight start obtained by Berwick, combined 
with natural agility, enabled him to outstrip his 
pursuers. After an hour's search the men returned to 
report an unavailing pursuit. Later Mrs. Foster had 
the satisfaction of witnessing the departure of the com- 
pany without Berwick. They marched out with fife 
and drum for Lowchester, with flying colors but — low 
be it spoken — failing hearts. The news brought back 
by the evening stage was not calculated to quiet 
anxiety; the driver said there were three hundred 
strikers at Lowchester waiting for the fifty Madeleinites 
to "gobble them up." 

Harry very soon heard an exaggerated account of 
Berwick's defection and listened until tired of the tirade 
against his friend. He silenced his last informant by 
saying: '' I shall not judge until I hear the story 
from Berwick himself Strange, indeed, that Berwick 
Foster should turn sneak ! ' ' 

As soon as dinner was over he hurried to Mrs. 
Foster's and there learned that Berwick had not 



96 Berwick' s Mistake. 

returned, and his mother added, ' * I do not expect to 
see him before night." Harry divined his hiding 
place at once, and started off for a haunt the two boys 
had named ' ' Trysting Cave ' ' a retreat known only to 
themselves. 

Taking the same route chosen by his friend that 
morning Harry passed swiftly on, as if responsive to 
some hidden influence among the beckoning corn tas- 
sels. His rapid pace soon brought him to a babbling 
brook whose cheery tone spoke encouragingly, as if 
to assure him of Berwick's rectitude. Why should 
the brook be so blithe, he thought, if one of its best 
friends was a coward ? Thus nature's forces minister 
unconsciously to nature's children. 

Not stopping to define these influences, Harry 
hurried along the stream until he came to a grand old 
elm which nearly obstructed the pathway, and whose 
time-worn trunk told tales of rising waters and tem- 
pest rivings. A passer-by would never have supposed 
that a secret lay hidden near the old tree, but the 
initiated Harry clambered over the trunk by a prac- 
ticed route, and cautiously peered through a mass of 
green vines depending from the elm's branches and 
which seemed to have sought a natural resting-place 
on the hill near by. The truth was that the boys had 
trained this luxuriant vine to serve their own purposes, 
and its rich growth concealed a miniature cavern 
formed by an opening in the hill side. The cavern 



Berwick^ s Mistake. 97 

was about ten feet long and six wide with a height 
perhaps of seven feet, and It contained several rocky 
ledges which served the boys for seats and couches. 
In their private conferences here, their friendship had 
been so strongly cemented that they fondly thought it 
could not be broken. 

Harry's intuition guided him aright. As soon as 
his eyes could penetrate the dimness, he saw Berwick 
reclining on one of the ledges. But there was some- 
thing in the boy's attitude unlike the familiar ease of 
other days; something which sent a chill to Harry's 
heart and made him hesitate to enter. However, 
pushing aside the green drapery, with admirable pres- 
ence of mind he exclaimed, '*It is Harry, Berwick — 
don't get up." 

The first ray of light had roused the boy and placed 
him In a defiant posture, but Harry's tone made him 
sink again upon the ledge and cover his face with his 
hands. " Of course I knew where to find you, and of 
course you expected me to come and hear all about 
your trouble, ' ' said Harry in an apologetic tone. 

' ' Oh ! Harry, I thought nobody, not even you, 
would ever come near me again, and I think if there 
had been a railroad near I would have run off and hid- 
den my disgrace In some distant place. ' ' 

"You never act hastily, Berwick, and your better 
judgment will aid you after awhile. But tell me about 
it, please, I want to hear the whole story." 

H 



98 Berwick' s Mistake. 

" Of course I have been severely criticized, and 
doubtless you have heard the story told in anything 
but a complimentary way to me. ' ' The tone evinced 
a new-born bitterness, and Harry did not aggravate it 
by saying how he had heard the story. He merely 
said: "I came to you, Berwick, because I wanted to 
talk it over; and now, please tell me all." 

Soothed by his friend' s gentleness, Berwick checked 
his irritation and poured out to Harry the whole story 
of the events recorded in the last chapter. 

" I have never disobeyed mamma, and I could not 
bring myself to begin now, though I have never before 
been so unfortunately placed. Do you think I did 
right?" 

Feeling that Berwick had been, in a measure, the 
victim of circumstances, and yet unable to speak 
commendingly when he felt there was wrong some- 
where, Harry went back to the first cause and speak- 
ing frankly, said: 

* * I think the first wrong was in going into the mili- 
tary company and not being prepared for the 'emer- 
gencies' of which papa spoke. I see now what he 
meant." 

*'Yes," Berwick answered, in a dispirited way, 
' ' your father was right. I believe he always is. I 
think if papa had lived this disgrace would not have 
come." 

"We must let this teach us a lesson," Harry 



Berwick! s Mistake, 99 

moralized, '*and make up our minds never to un- 
dertake anything which may bring duties we can't 
perform." 

Berwick was sensible and manly enough to acknowl- 
edge that his foolish ambition had played him a 
naughty trick, and he was ready to unite with Harry 
in any number of good resolutions. After some fur- 
ther talk Harry suggested returning home, as the 
lengthening shadows betokened evening's approach. 

As they neared Mrs. Foster's, Harry encouraged 
Berwick to meet all taunts by a frank avowal of motives, 
and to explain the situation to all who inquired. At 
parting he said: " This will leave you out of the com- 
pany ? ' ' 

* ' Yes, they will expel me. ' ' 

' ' Well, never mind, your friends will understand you 
and take your part, and in time you will be completely 
vindicated. " 

Harry took short cuts home that evening , fearing to 
be plied with questions. That night in thinking the 
matter over, he was startled by the remembrance of one 
of Berwick's remarks: *' Your father was right, I be- 
lieve he always is. " The unwelcome thought would 
obtrude itself: His father had been proven far-sighted 
in one instance might it be that his estimate of Ber- 
wick's character would prove correct also ? The mere 
presence of the thought was painful, and finally Harry 
succeeded in banishing it. 



100 Berwick^ s Mistake. 

Several days later when the excitement had subsided 
and Berwick Foster's " escapade " had taken a second- 
ary place in the calendar of town-gossip, Harry was 
struck by the ridiculous side of the affair and while 
writing to his uncle brightened the letter by a rather 
funny account of it. He was reading the letter to his 
mother before mailing it, when his little sister Ida en- 
tered the room. Scarcely waiting for Harry to finish 
his reading, she ran to Mrs. Andrews and asked per- 
mission to visit Lucia Foster; Nannie Burns was wait- 
ing for her at the door. 

* ' No, tell Nannie she must go without you this eve- 
ning, I have something in view for you. " Easily ap- 
peased, Ida ran to tell Nannie she could not go. Nan- 
nie lingered to play awhile and before she left, Ida, 
in a moment of confidence and with some pride in her 
big brother's epistolary efforts, said: 

"You just ought to've heard what Harry wrote 
to Uncle Marce about Berwick Foster's running away 
from the company. It was the funniest thing. We 
all laughed, Harry made it so funny. ' ' 

Now little Ida did not mean to tell a falsehood or 
make mischief, but Nannie carried the account to 
Lucia and her version made it appear that Harry had 
written a letter specially to make Berwick an object of 
derision. Lucia had never liked Harry any too well 
because he claimed so much of her brother's time, and 
here was a chance to prove him a traitor and diminish 



Berwick! s Mistake. loi 

his influence. As soon, therefore, as she heard Ber- 
wick's step in the hall, she called and asked him to 
take her out in the yard under the trees, for she had 
something to tell him. Berwick felt she had some- 
thing important to say and hastened to accede to her 
request. She began very calmly, feeling that she was 
to deal with a tender subject. 

'* Brother, have n't you always thought Harry was 
your friend ? ' ' 

' ' Harry Andrews ? Why he is my very best friend, 
Lucia." 

"Well, I have heard something this evening which 
makes me think him a very strange friend. ' ' 

* ' Lucia, you must be careful when you speak of 
Harry, for I love him dearly and he has been my chief 
friend and supporter through all my late trouble." 

''What would you say to Harry's making game of 
you?" 

* ' He would never do it, ' ' confidently exclaimed 
Berwick, '' no one could make me believe it." 

'' Nannie Burns says Ida Andrews told her that 
Harry had written their Uncle Marce a funny letter 
rediculing you so much that it made you a laughing- 
stock in the family." 

The boy colored violently and struggled to control 
his emotion. Finally he said, * ' Nannie is not very 
truthful, is she?" 

''I don't see why you say that, brother, I never 
heard her accused of story telling." 



I02 Berwick' s Mistake. 

"Well, she has gotten it wrong this time, certainly; 
however, I shall speak to Harry and see what found- 
ation the story has. ' ' He would have gone to Harry 
right away, but just then the supper-bell rang and he 
found he would have to restrain his impatience until 
the next day. Brooding over the story did not help 
matters, and anxious as he was to exonerate Harry, 
yet his warped and naturally suspicious nature asserted 
itself and made him unhappy. The more he thought 
over Nannie Burns' story, the more plausible it became, 
and coming to him at a time when he was still sore 
from the recent wound and conflict, he was hardly 
capable of judging even his best friend fairly. 

The next morning he rose early and impatiently 
awaited the stir of rising in the household. He then 
went down into the front yard and relieved his im- 
patience by pacing back and forth. Presently a voice 
broke the monotony and sent the blood over Berwick's 
neck and face. 

** Hello! Foster, how goes it, old fellow? " 

It was no other than Louis Burns, a cousin of 
Nannie's and one of the guards, the company having 
returned in the night. Willingly would Berwick have 
retreated, but he knew the only thing now to be done 
was to face and shame out the ignominy. As Louis 
drew near, he said: 

' ' I believe I owe you a grudge. You are one of 
the five who would have shot me last Tuesday, if you 



Berwick^ s Mistake. 103 

had been given half a chance. ' ' The tone was half 
jesting, half earnest, and Louis chose to accept the first 
interpretation. His reply was in perfect good faith. 

*' I would give a head of Dutch cabbage to know 
where you procured your mantle of invisibility, for 
some uncanny power concealed you. You are not a 
sufficient mite to hide in a corn husk, the hill is an 
open pasture and the brook a sworn foe to confiding 
humanity. Won' t you tell me what good fairy aided 
you and show me her bower ? ' ' 

" No," replied Berwick, relieved by his companion's 
pleasantry, *' I shall keep my secret for succor in future 
perils. Only I trust I may never have the role of 
coward to play again." 

' ' Now, Foster, let me tell you that I understand 
your case and was really on my way this morning to 
tell you that I sympathize with you, to ask your for- 
giveness for joining in the chase; also to tell you about 
the strike if you care to hear." 

Berwick was touched by Louis' words, and heartily 
extending his hand said: 

"All is forgotten! Come in, I would really like to 
hear about your experiences. ' ' 

' ' Well said Louis, plunging at once into the safe 
subject as they seated themselves, we reached Low- 
chester after a tedious day's march through the exas- 
perating heat, and there found an order to come by first 
train to Ilketon, where the strikers were assembeld in 



I04 Berwick! s Mistake, 

force. With quaking hearts we boarded the train, and 
our courage was not quickened by being landed at like- 
ton at 2 a. m. , in pitchy darkness and pouring rain. The 
orders awaiting us were to go into camp near the 
station until the dawn should bring active service. 

' * Our camp that night was one heretofore unrecorded 
in the annals of time. I had some curiosity to see 
how the fellows were standing it, and being only a 
raw recruit myself I hoped somebody's courage would 
inspire my fainting heart. I found Lanty on his 
knees at prayer, the tears streaming and adding their 
melancholy part to nature's deluge; Vinky Reed was 
pale but calm, and his features wore the 'give-me-liberty 
or-give-me-death' look; Bob Morgan swore more 
scientifically than ever; Robert cut off a lock of his 
hair * while it was yet unsoaked in blood ' he said, 
and wrapping it in a paper containing his name, 
enclosed the whole in a sealed envelope which found 
concealment in the bottom of his boot. Our giant, 
Bergan, was braver than any would have supposed, 
proving himself better at war than books; while Will 
Randall showed the white feather. With the first 
streak of day the most courageous succumbed and our 
captain had some difficulty to prevent a mutiny. I 
believe the firing of a gun would have scattered us to 
the four winds. 

''After standing in battle array two mortal hours 
waiting for marching and fighting orders, and having 



Berwick! s Mistake. 105 

screwed up our courage to breaking tension, the news 
came that our services were no longer needed, the 
'strike' was about over, the strikers were resuming work 
and at that particular place there would certainly be no 
further trouble. You may believe we felt like fighting 
them. We had been duped, betrayed, and our most 
sacred feelings were outraged and made game of A 
more sheepish-looking set of men it would have been 
hard to find when we boarded the train a few hours 
later to return ingloriously to our homes. But we 
received comfort from the captain. He said we had 
the satisfaction of having witnessed and subdued a 
struggle in the ranks, even though we have no wounds 
or scars to show for it. What became of Robert's 
love-lock or Charlie Mason's letter to Miss Nellie, we 
are all anxious to find out. So our experience has 
made us all, Captain Burry included, very lenient to- 
wards you. I happened to hear him say yesterday in 
reviewing the events: 'Well, boys, I didn't know 
we had so many cowards in the company. I can tell 
you one thing, if Berwick Foster had been allowed to 
come he would have been the bravest here!' " 

''Did he say that, Louis?" Well, you are good 
to come and tell me, and I thank you. But I hear 
the breakfast bell. Come in. ' ' 

"No, I must go. But one thing more. Is there 
any estrangement between you and Harry ? ' ' Seeing 
Berwick' s brow darken, Louis hastened to add : ' 'The 



io6 Berwick' s Mistake. 

reason I ask is because Nannie said something this 
morning to Aunt Etta about Harry exposing you to 
ridicule. ' ' 

' * That must be a mistake, Louis, I can' t beheve it. ' ' 

''Well, pardon my glibness, I expect Nannie has 
misunderstood somebody, for she is uncomfortably 
truthful. Goodbye." 

The echoing ' ' goodbye ' ' was sad enough, for Louis' 
last words had a sting which blotted out the amusing 
story he had told and destroyed the comfort he had 
given in delivering the captain's message. Im- 
mevdiately after breakfast Berwick went to Mr. Andrews, 
and finding Harry, asked him stiffly if he would come 
for a walk. "Certainly, I am at your service," was 
the prompt response, though puzzled not a litde by 
Berwick's repelling manner. Little was said by either 
until beyond the range of curious eyes, when Berwick 
stopped short and said: 

' * Harry, I have heard something which I am loth 
to believe, and I want the truth from you. If you 
have acted as is reported, our friendship is at an end." 

Perfectly astounded, Harry could only look his 
amazement until he found voice to say, "For mercy's 
sake, Berwick, explain yourself, I am all in the dark. ' ' 

* * I have heard, ' ' and the tone was measured and cool, 
"from several parties that you made game of me in a 
letter to your uncle, and made it so funny that I am 
the laughing stock of the house. ' ' 



Berwick' s Mistake. 107 

''Strange!" said Harry after a pause, biting his lip 
and meditating, ' ' I wrote that letter yesterday. Who 
told you, Berwick ? " 

''You don't deny it ! You wrote such a letter! " 

' ' I did write to Uncle Marce and I told him in a 
funny way your adventure" — 

His companion had been growing more haughty 
and when Harry mentioned the unfortunate word ad- 
venture, he burst into a torrent of angry words which 
could not be checked. 

Finally Harry took advantage of a break to say 
tremulously: "You did not let me finish. I wrote 
the letter to make it bright for Uncle Marce who is 
now an invalid, and so innocent was I of all ridicule 
of you that if you had come along I would have 
handed it to you to read." 

But the boy's passion was too thoroughly aroused 
and all Harry's explanations could not patch up a 
reconciliation. They both felt on separating that the 
world was darker, they could hardly tell why. 

During the succeeding weeks the two saw less of 
each other than ever before, though Harry strove to 
atone for his blunder. Singularly enough towards the 
beginning of autumn, both Mr. Andrews and Mrs. 
Foster determined to send their sons to boarding- 
school, and still more singular was it they were both 
entered at the same school, Edgerton Hall, in the 
large town of Conington. 



io8 Berwick' s Mistake. 

Berwick had not yet informed Harry of his mother's 
intentions, when one morning in early September while 
Harry was with a crowd playing ball, some one said 
during a pause in the game: " So Hal, you and 
Foster are going to be school chums next year. Will 
you promise to be sweet to each other ? ' ' 

" I think you are mistaken," Harry quietly replied, 
* ' I am not going to school with Berwick. ' ' 

Louis Burns caught the last clause and treasured 
it as a fine morsel. He was a smooth-tongued cajoler, 
and he wanted Berwick's friendship even if Harry had 
to be sacrificed. The remark was therefore repeated 
to Berwick, with amplifications. 

When Harry heard that Berwick had been entered 
at Edgerton, he sought him and plead for a renewal of 
their friendship, now they were going among strangers. 
Berwick was so touched by Harry's earnestness that 
his reserve gave way in part, and he almost felt ready 
to return to the old days. 

At last the morning for departure came, and Ber- 
wick stood waiting for the coach and Harry, thinking 
hopefully of brighter days in store. Down the village 
street dashed the coach and scarcely waiting for it to 
stop, Berwick leaped hurriedly in. What was his as- 
tonishment to find himself the only occupant ? 

*' Why, where is Harry? " he asked the driver. 

* * Message was, he not goin' this morning ? ' ' 

The day grew dark for the poor boy, Louis' words 



Berwick' s Mistake. 109 

came vividly to memory, and he leaned back in his 
seat muttering: 

**That ends it. Our friendship is transmuted into 
enmity on one side at least. The hypocrite ! ' ' 



no Berwick^ s Mistake, 



CHAPTER III. 



THE KILLINGBY PRIZE. 



THAT day's ride in the stage-coach was the darkest 
Berwick had ever spent. The scenes through 
which the road led were picturesque and beautiful, but 
they lost half their charm for the boy through their very 
familiarity. Once only did nature rivet his attention — 
when the mellow autumn sunlight sifting through the 
forest's leafy sieve, discovered the first autumnal tinting 
and gave promise of coming October glory. 

Berwick would willingly have yielded himself cap- 
tive to the witching influences that one meets at every 
turn among September woods, but other thoughts and 
feelings engrossed him. He was trying to steel his 
heart forever against Harry, and calling to his aid many 
petty and malignant things which a month before he 
would have scorned to make use of, before the solitary 
day's ride was ended he had succeeded in his object 
quite well. He started with the basis that Harry was 
a hypocrite, else why should he have made the remark 
repeated by Louis, then have come with such fair win- 
ning words, and after all have failed to appear at the 



Berwick's Mistake. ill 

proper time ? Even if sickness or anything had de- 
tained him, could he not have written a note expressive 
of sorrow at his detention, or at least have sent a mes- 
sage ? No, there could be no reason or even plausible 
excuse for such conduct, so the boy argued, and the 
more he dwelt upon the subject the angrier he became 
with his friend and the more strenuously did he resolve 
that for the future their paths should lie in different 
and ever-widening directions. 

Chemisty tells us that a slight jar will sometimes 
change the soft yielding amorphite into a hard unim- 
pressionable crystal. Berwick's friendship for Harry 
was in the amorphite condition when the last jar 
shocked it into crystallization, and hereafter a new life 
was to begin for them both — in one sense, a strange 
and trying life, inasmuch as they would be in daily in- 
tercourse and yet so far apart. 

At last the weary day was ended, the rumbling coach 
exchanged for the gliding sleeper, and the unhappy 
youth lost consciousness for a while in quiet rest. 

Morning brought Conington and school, and as Ber- 
wick walked the few squares intervening between the 
depot and Edgerton Hall he determined to let new 
friends supply Harry's place, and also to do all in his 
power to outstrip his late friend even if it brought 
mortification to his opponent. Error and malice had 
found the crevice for the entering wedge. Oh ! my 
lad, beware ! 



112 Berwick's Mistake. 

The school-house was a large commodious modern 
building situated on rising ground in the suburbs of 
the busy manufacturing river town. All around were 
extensive grounds, extending to within a square of the 
river Wynne on two sides and on the other two lying 
side by side with the fairest parts of Conington. From 
the street in front could be caught glimpses of the skate- 
ing pond in the rear, while the gymnasium on the right 
and tennis and base-ball grounds on the left were in 
full view. Dr. Edgerton, the principal, a genial man 
devoted to his work and never so happy as when his 
boys were happy; had lavished his time, taste and 
fortune to throw around his temporary charge those 
influences which best foster the natural and healthy 
growth of a boy's physical and moral nature, and 
no man deserved success more than he. Responsive 
to his laudable efforts, came commendations from all 
parts of the country. Edgerton Hall ranked high 
among the schools of the land, and many a rising man 
pointed back to the school as the place where he first 
started fair and square in life's race. 

The house itself consisted of the main building and 
a wing on either side, all having some pretensions to 
architectural beauty. The main building contained 
the family dwelling rooms and some rooms for the 
boys. Dr. Edgerton did not believe in dormitories; 
his effort was to make the boys as comfortable as 
their own homes were, though there was no chance 



Berwick's Mistake. 113 

for luxury or effeminacy among the simple surround- 
ings. The other rooms for the boys were in the left 
wing, as were also the professors' apartments ; while 
the right wing contained the large exhibition hall, 
where also the daily devotions were held, the recita- 
tion rooms and an in-door play-room. 

The influence emanating from the Hall was pleasing 
even to a casual observer, and as Berwick passed 
through the wide entrance gates he felt the first light- 
ening of heart since he left home. As the session 
would open the next day, a great many boys had ar- 
rived and were now scattered through the grounds vari- 
ously engaged. Some were lounging or standing in 
and around the spacious porch, and as Berwick advan- 
ced up the steps rather slowly, one of a group, a 
dark-eyed, brown-haired, bronzed but pleasant- faced 
youth of perhaps seventeen years, came forward 
graciously and extending his hand said : 

' ' I see you are a new boy. I am a pupil of three 
years standing, and if you like I will take you in to 
Dr. Edgerton. My name is Phipps. ' ' 

' ' You are most kind. I accept your offer willingly. 
My name is Foster — Berwick Foster." 

Through a broad passage and into a room at its 
lower part his new friend conducted Berwick, and he 
found himself being warmly welcomed by the master. 

Dr. Edgerton might look insignificant to a stranger 
following him down the street, but get a view of 



114 Berwick's Mistake, 

his fine face and you would want to know him at once. 
The intellectual breadth of forehead was even less 
attractive than the keen, lustrous, dark blue eyes whose 
gentleness and love constituted most of the power 
dwelling in them. A firm mouth, speaking wise and 
kind words is surely a valuable and enviable posses- 
sion, and such the master had, fully revealed by his 
clean shaven face. The good Doctor might be forty, 
he might be fifty, but not a failing or a gray hair indi- 
cated advancing years; the short wavy brown hair was 
still thick on brow and crown. 

Berwick felt his hand grasped warmly and his heart 
almost yielded to peaceful influences as the Doctor said: 
* * Welcome among us, my boy. I trust you will 
find the school truly a home and be benefitted in every 
way by your experiences here. I will not quiz you to- 
day, some other time for that. Charlie will now take 
you and introduce you to your new friends and sur- 
roundings. Enjoy yourself to-day, to-morrow we begin 
work, and then play will be only an incident and a rec- 
reation. ' ' As the boys were leaving he recalled them 
a moment: "There is another boy from Madeleine 
due here to-day — Harry Andrews — I thought perhaps 
you were coming together. " 

* ' I came alone, sir. ' ' 

The tone betrayed slight embarrassment and it 
flashed through the Doctor's mind that perhaps there 
was a family feud or something of the kind; however, 



Berwick^ s Mistake. 115 

he finally dismissed the boys with a soothing * * Very 
well, that is all. ' ' 

The next morning a letter came to the principal ex- 
plaining Harry's delay, but Dr. Edgerton did not again 
mention the matter to Berwick, fearing he might arouse 
unpleasant feeling. Several days passed and schoo 
duties were fairly under way when one morning at re- 
cess Lloyd Morris, a rather rough boy who had attached 
himself to Berwick, ran up to the latter and said: 

* ' One of your Madeleine chaps has just come. I 
saw him handed in to the Doctor not five minutes ago. 
Waited to find out his hailing place, heard something 
about Madeleine, and posted straight to you to know 
more. Who is it that hails from your 'native' ? ' ' 

*' You will have to interrogate the new-comer him- 
self I have heard of no arrival. ' ' 

' * You didn' t know any other boy was coming from 
your place? " 

* ' No, I didn' t say that. But there might have been a 
dozen coming and I not have known anything of their 
plans. I am not on intimate terms with every boy in 
town. " 

''Well," replied Lloyd, good-naturedly, "I didn't 
mean to rile you. Ta, ta." And he left Berwick to 
his irritability. 

The latter carefully avoided Harry all that day and 
the next, but late in the afternoon of the second day 
when some sports were in progress, Harry from his 



ii6 Berwick's Mistake. 

post of observation saw Berwick leave his companions 
and steal away to a solitary part of the grounds. 
This was just the opportunity he had been longing for 
and he at once followed. 

Berwick was leaning over the palings absorbed in 
thought and started when his name was called. Turn- 
ing he saw Harry and at once sought a quarrel. 

*'One request I have to make of you Andrews," 
how grating was the new name, ' ' you observe the 
boys here only use surnames and you will oblige me 
by falling into that rule when I am addressed." 

* ' Surely this is but a quibble, you must have some 
greater cause against me than my style of address. 
Tell me what it is. Oh, Berwick — I will get used to 
your new name after awhile — please let us be friends. 
You have no idea how my heart aches at this coolness. 
Why do you not believe in my same old friendship ? ' ' 

There was something very pathetic in the pleading 
tone, but instead of softening it only seemed to infuri- 
ate the other boy, for he answered with suppressed 
anger: 

* ' Because I believe you to be a hypocrite. I can' t 
dissemble and I despise deceit." 

Harry was almost struck dumb . by this accusation 
but he controlled himself by a violent effort and said : 
' ' Have a care, Foster, how you make charges you 
can't sustain. I don't know what has come over you 
of late. You are so changed I feel it is some other 
boy I used to love." 



Berwick^ s Mistake. 117 

'* You needn't trouble yourself to hate the present 
individual, I shall be satisfied with your indifference." 

" One thing I would like to explain, and that is the 
reason I did not come as we arranged." 

Berwick really wanted to know the reason, but he 
felt that to listen longer would be a retreat and an 
acknowledgement that he was in the wrong; so he 
said disagreeably: 

'' It is quite enough for me to know you are here 
now, and much better that I came alone. You need 
not trouble yourself to give me additional information. ' ' 

''Very well," replied Harry turning pale, ''I take 
up your gauntlet, but you must remember you have 
thrown it without cause. It is a satisfection to know 
that some day you will rue it." 

* * I never expect to deplore truthful discoveries, 
however unpleasant. ' ' 

Ignoring the taunt lying in the words, Harry could 
not trust himself to say more, so he turned and walked 
rapidly away. 

Gaining the privacy of his room, he did what his 
mother had always taught him to do in trouble, he 
went on his knees to God. Ah! if Berwick had 
listened to the reason for Harry's detention, surely 
their interview had ended differently. 

Harry was about ready to start on the morning in 
question when the whole household was thrown into 
consternation by one of Mrs. Andrews' alarming 



li§ Berwick^ s Mistake. 

attacks of illness — heart disease, her physician said. 
It was one of her worst attacks, and just while life 
seemed almost extinct and all energies were bent upon 
her relief, the stage coach can>e for Harry, Mr. 
Andrews sent a servant to deliver the brief message to 
the driver, and if Harry thought of Berwick at all, it 
was with the feeling that of course he would hear all 
about it. It did not occur to him until their quarrel 
was at its height that perhaps Berwick had never 
heard why he was detained. 

A terrible sorrow and loneliness gnawed at the poor 
boy's heart as he rose and threw himself across his 
bed; all this trouble, combined with homesickness, 
was almost more than he could bear. He had been 
misrepresented, misunderstood and accused of hypoc- 
risy by his best friend, and his one fervent boyish 
affection was crushed ruthlessly under foot by the very 
object of it. A violent fit of weeping relieved his 
over-burdened heart, but left a jerking headache. 
After he grew calmer some comfort came in the 
thought that his father was right, his confidence had 
been misplaced, and now having done all he could to 
exonerate himself and save Berwick, he would have 
to regard him ever after with indifference. 

Would any one consider these boys the victims of 
circumstances ? Nay! the root of the matter extended 
beyond the boundaries of mere circumstance, far away 
into the regions of actual sin and among the mountains 



Berwick^ s Mistake. 119 

of error. The guilt began in listening to an idle tale, 
and then led on from bad to worse by allowing sus- 
picion and passion to assume the mastery. By such 
leadings had Berwick Foster become equally his own 
enemy and Harry's. 

Harry was utterly wretched. He was experiencing 
his first real trouble and it went very hard with him. 
One of his room-mates coming up before supper he 
pleaded his headache as an excuse for keeping his room 
that evening, and the boy kindly carried the message 
to Dr. Edgerton. After a few days however, Harry 
seemed to rise superior to the cloud, and news from 
home of his mother's complete restoration to health 
cheered him not a little. He soon became a favorite 
in the school; with the teachers by his diligence in 
study and deference to constituted authority, and with 
the boys by his sunny disposition and his abandonment 
to fun and sport during times of recreation. 

The difference between the standing of the two 
Madeleine boys at Edgerton was that one was admired 
for his intellectual qualifications and maturity of thought 
and expression, and to some degree feared because of 
his reserve and oft-times sternness; the other was 
loved and trusted for his genial and solid qualities, and 
his opinion soon gained great weight in matters of 
doubt on questions of morality. 

A day or two after his quarrel with Berwick, Harry 
and Charlie Phipps were seated together in the lower 



ISO Berwick' s Mistake. 

part of the school grounds, whitthng and talking on 
various subjects. Presently Harry said: *'Who was 
the queer person who came to my room the other 
evening and so effectively cured my headache ? When I 
waked she was gone, and desirous as I am to thank 
her I have only had distant glimpses of her since." 

Harry could not have selected a better informant, 
for Charlie told a story well and was thoroughly com- 
petent by reason of three years' residence to explain 
everything connected with Edgerton. 

*' I suppose you mean the housekeeper. Why she 
is the presiding genius of this abode and all sorts of 
disorders fly at her approach. We boys all love her 
to death, as you will in time, and she loves us all, 
whether we are good, bad or indifferent. Some of us 
have a superstition that she knows everything that 
goes on, for the exposure of some very secret things 
have been traced to Seepie. ' ' 

'' What an odd name," interrupted Harry; '' do tell 
me all you know of her, Phipps. ' ' 

* * Well, Catherine Prumms is the real name of this 
spinster, and she came as housekeeper here when the 
Doctor first married. I have heard hini say often that 
in a week she became as perfectly identified with the 
home as part and parcel of the family belongings and 
nothing would have induced them to give her up. 
Mrs. Edgerton became an invalid when Lou was about 
a year old, and now for seventeen years Seepie has 
had undisputed sway." 



Berwick' s Mistake. I2I 

" Didn't'you say her name was Catherine? " 
* * Yes. The nickname originated with Miss Mamie 
when she was a baby. You don't know Miss Mamie; 
she married Doctor Glancy last session. You may 
have noticed she has a drowsy look caused by a 
habit of drooping her eye-lids and scanning the world 
through half-closed eyes. Baby Mamie mistook this 
trick for a state of chronic somnia and so called her 
''Seepie" in her imperfect lingo. The name was 
caught up by other members of the household and 
soon passed from a jest to an established fact, so that 
her real name has been almost obliterated by grim 
old Time." 

** Where did she come from ? " *' No one knows. 
She stands on her own merits and so correct is every- 
thing connected with her that all are willing to accept 
her without further testimonials." 

' ' Then she is not as sleepy as she looks? ' ' 
* ' Don' t you trust to that, old fellow. She is wide 
awake, I tell you. One of her characteristics, as I have 
said, is her all-knowingness in her particular sphere, 
and you will find her fathom deep in information on 
household topics, whether the question concerns the 
whereabouts of a missing lexicon or the peeling of a 
potato. This knowledge gives her a divine right to 
command and a human right to be kept posted on all 
the ins and outs of school and home life; and so rigidly 
does she maintain these rights that the servants declare 



122 Berwick's Mistake. 

she is supernaturally aided in her researches. Whether 
or not she has an attendant Ariel, certain it is, very 
few things transpire unknown to her. 

' ' One pecuHarity keeps up the mystery attaching to 
her from ignorant people. She regards her room as 
her special sanctum and will not allow any one to 
enter it, carries the key always with her and neither 
superiors or subordinates are permitted to profane its 
sanctity by crossing the threshold. The servants 
firmly believe it is there she harbors her tale-bearing 
sprites. In spite of all her oddities we are all devoted 
to her because she is so good and kind, nurses all our 
ills away and never lets any boy go hungry if she 
knows it. It won't be long before you'll vote her a 
trump. ' ' 

' * I am ready to do so now if she will only cause the 
supper bell to ring, for I am growing hungry as a 
bear." 

Rising, the boys walked to the house and in a few 
minutes joined the impatient crowd en route for the 
supper roorh. 

Autumn merged into winter and all was progressing 
as usual at the school; one day's failures were atoned 
for by the successes of the next; some boys labored, 
some plodded^ and some lagged and halted mentally. 
The school was like all others that gather together one 
hundred or more boys. 

One morning in early December the Doctor rose 



Be7"wick:s Mistake. 123 

belore the assembled school and explained, as had 
been his wont for two years previous, the * ' Killingby 
Prize." The boys called it *' Killing-boy" because of 
the hard work it induced. Every boy, new-comer 
and all, knew about it of course, but the principal 
wanted no misunderstanding and he thought best to 
give lucid explanation himself each year. 

** Young gentlemen," he said, there will be this 
year the usual contest for the ' Killingby Prize, ' and it 
is unnecessary for me to say that I hope the winner 
will receive his reward through honest merit. The 
prize is awarded by the interest and generosity of Dr. 
Killingby, who, as you all know, is professor of 
mathematics in the State University, and an old friend 
of mine. The prize consists of a set of books com- 
prehending the whole mathematical course, and is 
awarded to one of two boys who after three weeks' 
extra work passes the best examination in mathematics. 
Dr. Killingby has made it one of the conditions of 
bestowing the prize that the two contestants be elected 
by the vote of the entire school from among their own 
ranks, the two boys receiving the greatest number of 
votes being declared contestants. The one qualifica- 
tion for the competition is that the boy must have 
some recognized standing in mathematics. Although 
not approving this plan, yet I have had no fault to 
find with the two previous contests. While they 
excite emulation and fair striving, there has been, to 



124 Berwick's Mistake. 

my knowledge, no wire-pulling, unfair methods or 
ungenerous feeling. Let me hope that both victor 
and vanquished in the coming contest will conduct 
themselves as become gentlemen and Christians. The 
vote of the school will be taken this afternoon and the 
result announced to-night at the close of study-hour. ' ' 
You may be sure every boy was on the qui vive 
that night as just after the ringing of the nine o'clock 
bell, Dr. Edgerton entered the school-room and walk- 
ing to his desk on the platform announced the two 
names for the coming race. With mingled feelings 
of surprise, pleasure, disappointment and chagrin, the 
boys heard the names of Harry Andrews and Berwick 
Foster! 



Berwick's Mistake, 125 

CHAPTER IV. 

AN UNDESIRABLE ACQUAINTANCE. 

NONE were more surprised at the result of the 
voting than the contestants elected, and had it 
been possible both would have withdrawn from the 
contest. Berwick was particularly disheartened, and 
in talking the matter over with the three boys in his 
room he found cause for anger too. 

* ' It is not fair, ' ' he said, ' 'Andrews is ahead of me 
in geometry and so has the advantage of a better 
start. No school has a right to throw two boys into a 
prize contest, it ought to be open to the whole 
school." 

*'I agree with you, pard," said Lloyd Morris, ''and 
indeed none of the boys like this style of thing." 

* ' Why then is it permitted ' ' asked Berwick. 

''Because," answered an intelligent looking boy 
named Albert Kenny, ' ' notwithstanding the fact that 
Doctor Killingby is a musty old professor with cranky 
notions, yet he is greatly esteemed by Doctor Edger- 
ton who accepted this prize with its conditions rather 
than offend his old friend." 

' ' Well, ' ' answered Berwick as he sprang into bed. 



126 Berwick' s Mistake. 

* ' we must accept our fates gracefully, and if I hope to 
carry off the ' Killingby ' I must first get one good 
night's rest. But I predict that Doctor Edgerton will 
one day have cause to deplore the admission of such 
a false system into his school." 

' ' One thing about it ' ' said Harry May, a tall keen- 
eyed youth who had not yet spoken, ' ' is that it does 
not come in with the usual school routine or examin- 
ations. Being entirely independent of the school 
management it is placed early in the session and made 
an incident instead of a feature. ' ' 

**An evilly-inclined incident may, however, affect 
the welfare of the whole," argued Albert. 

' ' I don' t deny it ' ' returned Harry May, ' ' and I 
too, am afraid the Killingby prize will some day bring 
trouble; but Doctor tolerates it because for two years 
the winning of this prize has been so fair and 
satisfactory." 

The conversation became rambling and desultory 
after this and no longer of special interest to us, so we 
will now turn to Harry Andrews' thoughts and feelings 
on this special subject. As soon as he found himself 
thrown into a public contest with Berwick, his first im- 
pulse was to decline to enter the lists. He actually 
went to Doctor Edgerton next morning and stated his 
unwillingness to run for the prize, but he was informed 
that he was too late and could not be released. 
Then his pride gained ground and he determined to 



Berwick's Mistake, 127 

bend all his energies to come out winner in the coming 
race. He had been made Berwick's antagonist against 
his volition, and now come of it what would, he was 
determined to be best man in the contest. 

Berwick's indifference towards his former friend had 
by this time intensified into genuine antipathy, and he 
felt that he could bear to be beaten by anybody rather 
than by Harry. *' It must not be " he said to himself 
' * I will strain every energy and make every minute 
do double work to take from him this prize." 

The next three weeks were weeks of intense appli- 
cation for both Berwick and Harry. They were both 
good mathematicians, but Harry's was undoubtedly 
the superior mind in this department of learning, so 
Berwick felt that he had more than ordinary odds to 
contend against. 

The Edgerton boys had long before this perceived 
the estrangement between the two Madeleine youths, 
though they knew not the cause. Boys are ever 
ready for a fight and as soon as the two were arrayed 
against each other, the special friends of both parties 
espoused sides and the prize contest soon began to 
assume a belligerent and partisan character. Betting 
was introduced, and some boys would bet on both 
sides with different parties; the hostile feelings abroad 
provoked several fights; angry disputes were of daily 
occurrence, and there was anything but a healthy tone 
among the boys by the time the three weeks of prep- 
aration had passed. 



128 Berwick's Mistake. 

The examination was on the last day of school 
before the Christmas ten days' holiday, and with most 
of the pupils thoughts of home and even of coming 
holiday pleasures seemed to have been lost sight of in 
the excitement attending the "Killingby" prize con- 
test. Berwick and Harry were excused from all other 
recitations on that day and called early to their special 
examination. The suspense of the succeeding night 
was almost too great for youthful endurance, but it was 
not until the next morning before the departure of any 
of the boys for their respective homes that before the 
assembled school Harry Andrews was presented with 
the Killingby Prize. The good old Doctor thought 
the cheering feebler than on any of the two other 
occasions, and his complacency was disturbed by detect- 
ing scowls and angry glances from certain boys. 
What could be the meaning of it ? The principal felt 
that he must sift the matter. The examination had 
been written, it was held in private by an impartial 
judge, for the questions were prepared each year by 
Doctor Killingby himself and given out by one of the 
older professors. But Doctor Edgerton felt misgivings 
that the school was aggrieved in some way and he was 
bound to have a full understanding of the matter. 

That evening he sent for Prof Marsh, a man upon 
whose judgement he relied and one who had once 
warned him that the Killingby Prize would some day 
cause dissension. The Professor heard the Doctor's 



Berwick' s Mistake. 129 

question gravely and then replied: "My dear sir, the 
evil is even more wide spread than you surmise. The 
mischief engendered by this contest can not now be 
repaired, I fear; but you have the power, sir, to prevent 
a recurrence of this evil by making the whole school 
eligible to the prize." 

* ' Dr. Killingby alone can do that, my dear Profess- 
or, but I can refuse to offer the prize in my school 
unless he withdraws the offensive conditions. And I 
will do it, now that I find the present plan prejudicial to 
good at Edgerton Hall." 

" I am sincerely glad to hear you say so. Doctor, 
for if you had not summoned me it was my intention 
to seek you and tell you of the deleterious effects of 
this present contest. ' ' 

"What has been the special trouble this year," 
asked the Doctor. ' ' Twice before has this prize been 
given and beyond a passing interest evinced by the 
school in the triumph of one of its members, after the 
election of contestants all personal feeling has been 
merged in the ardor of study and the other boys 
have been mere friendly spectators." 

"Ah! Doctor, personal feeling strikes the key note 
of the whole matter. This unfortunate prize system 
has pitted against each other two boys who, for some 
cause are at enmity, and this enmity is the cause of the 
present trouble. ' ' 

"A great pity! A great pity! repeated the Doctor. 
J 



130 Berwick's Mistake. 

After conversing a while longer the Professor left, and 
Dr. Edgerton, turning to his table, indicted a letter to 
Dr. Killingby embodying the resolution he had 
announced to Prof. Marsh. He told his old friend 
kindly but firmly, that he must refuse his prize here- 
after unless he would remove the conditions for com- 
petition and throw the contest open to the whole 
school. As reasons for his action he stated that cir- 
cumstances attending the winning of the prize this 
year had shown how unwise the system was. It was 
not fair for boys to be elected contestants, because 
their comrades had not sufficient judgment to choose 
wisely; because a school prize should exclude none 
from competition for it; because partisanship and all its 
train of evils were engendered by election, and because 
boys so arrayed against each other were apt to become 
unfriendly rivals. All this was couched in the Doctor's 
choicest language and most graceful rhetoric. 

In a few days he received the old Professor's reply, 
acceding at once to his friend's suggestions. He was 
sorry indeed, if his short-sightedness had occasioned 
any trouble at Edgerton Hall whose best interests were 
dear to his heart. The slightest whisper of experience 
should always silence the voice of theory, and he was 
perfectly satisfied to have his prize awarded as his friend 
thought best. So the ' ' Killingby Prize ' ' having 
wrought its mischief, took a humble place among other 
prizes at the close of the session and no longer as a 



Berwick' s Mistake. 



131 



monopoly endangered the well-being of Edgerton Hall. 

The new year brought a resumption of school work 
and by the second week in January all the boys were 
pretty well over holiday demoralization and into serious 
work again. Seepie, who was more of a matron than 
a house-keeper, considered that she had the moral 
training of the boys in hand and could often find ways 
to manage recalcitrant youths when other authorities 
failed. She had heard of the late struggle and 
divined its hidden motives, and having had occasion 
to render valuable service to Benv'ick several times, she 
determined to interview him and see if reconciliation 
could not be effected between him and Harry. An 
occasion presented ere long when she found Berwick 
alone in his room, and following her own peculiar 
tactics she launched straightway into her subject. 

*' Tell me, Berwick, why you hate Harry Andrews! " 

Thus appealed to the boy answered directly but with 
tremulous voice and paling countenance. * * Because 
he is a fair-spoken hypocrite and such are not congenial 
to my nature." 

' * Isn' t it just possible you may be self-deceived ? The 
lad does not strike me to be what you represent him 
and moreover I don't believe he is. You are blinded 
by passion, and as your good friend I would like to 
make peace between you." 

'* If you don't want to make an enemy of me, you 
will drop Andrews' name out of sight in my presence. 



132 Berwick' s Mistake. 

I hate him and would mortifiy him if I could, even as 
he has recently mortified me." 

Seeing that words were wasted when spoken in 
Harry's favor, she spent her time in trying to show 
the boy the terrible danger of yielding to such 
thoughts and feelings as he was indulging. She found 
a nature that baffled her, but not by any means giving 
o'er the battle, she retired until she could study him 
more and find some vulnerable point. 

One morning in Febuary Berwick was summoned 
to Dr. Edgerton's study and informed that a letter had 
come from his mother requesting permission for him 
to meet a relative at the wharf and see her safely 
aboard the train. As the time of the boat's arrival 
was out of school hours and he need not be absent 
longer than an hour altogether, the master told Ber- 
wick he would accede to his mother's request. The 
next evening, therefore, Berwick left the school grounds, 
and not yet having heard the boat whistle he sauntered 
along in the direction of the wharf Nearing the place 
he asked a lounger if the ** Garland " would soon be in, 
and was told that the boat was late by a half hour. 
Not knowing exactly what to do with himself he turned 
and retraced his steps for a short distance, then remem- 
bering he had seen a hotel near the wharf he thought 
he would go into the hotel parlor and there await the 
arrival of the boat. 

In crossing an alley which intersected this street, 



Berwick^ s Mistake. 133 

oaths and angry voices fell upon his ear and naturally 
he turned to see whence they came. A short way down 
the alley a fight was in progress, though just then there 
was an intermission in the fray. With a youth's curi- 
osity to witness a fight and its termination he joined 
several persons hurrying down to the scene of action, 
and arrived just as the brawniest fellow levelled a telling 
blow at his opponent and sent him senseless to the 
earth. At that moment a policeman's whistle was 
heard in the distance and the crowd scattered like 
magic fearing that the officers of the law might find 
their way to the alley and they be identified with the 
peace-breakers; so Berwick found himself alone with 
the unconscious man. 

Something in the quiet features before him, blood- 
stained and but lately distraught by murderous passion 
as they were, created an intense pity in the boy's heart. 
Not knowing what to do, he awaited the coming of the 
police, not thinking that he might be placed in an em- 
barrassing situation were he found there. However, 
he was spared any suspicion, for no policeman or other 
human being came to his relief The poor man still 
remained unconscious and at his wit's end how to act, 
Berwick finally remembered that water was the proper 
restorative in such cases. 

Going to a hydrant near by he easily detached the 
cup and chain and returning with the water, freely 
bathed and sprinkled the unfortunate man's face. The 



134 Berwick^ s Mistake. 

blood stains were removed by the boy's charitable 
actions and their removal discovered a gash in the face 
near the ear, only surface deep, however, and several 
already blackening bruises. The man was evidently 
a rough, but the silken brown hair and certain at- 
tempts at respectability evident even in the coarse 
garments, plainly told that he had fallen from a higher 
estate. 

Gradually the signs of life began to respond to the 
boy's ministrations and in a few moments the eyes 
opened and looked bewilderingly around. 

** It was a hard blow that nearly finished you, " said 
Berwick. A scowl instantly overspread the counte- 
nance as the man muttered: " You have it, youngster, 
I a' most forgot whir I wus." 

"Well, never mind, you are better now. Can I 
help you to more comfortable quarters ? ' ' 

The man eyed the boy in honest astonishment and 
rising feebly, disdaining aid, he leaned against the tot- 
tering fence near by. Then still looking at Berwick he 
said: "I'd like to know the name of the person as ud 
do Jock Dean a good turn. ' ' Happening to see the 
cup and chain on the ground he continued; "I'm 
everlastin'ly thankful to ye, young feller, I see now 
if it hadn't a been fur you I'd 'a' been a laying ther' 
dead now. The fellers all run and lef me, did they ? ' ' 

"They were scared off by a policeman's whistle, 
and I suppose they thought they could return when 
the coast was clear." 



Berwick' s Mistake. 135 

"An' you stuck by me and got the water," with a 
significant gesture towards the cup. 

' ' I was glad to be of service. But I must go now, 
I am expecting a friend on that boat just coming in," 
and Berwick turned to leave. 

" One minute, young feller, I want the name of that 
person what saved my life to-day, and I want to give 
ye a lift sometime when ye need me." 

* ' As to that, ' ' said Berwick hurriedly, ' ' I need no 
service, thank you. I am a school-boy, Berwick Fos- 
ter, at Edgerton Hall." He had added his name 
because the man had caught his sleeve as if deter- 
mined to have his one request granted, and now upon 
being released he hurried to the boat just landing her 
passengers at the wharf. His cousin was among the 
passengers and it was not long before she was com- 
fortably aboard her train through Berwick's assistance, 
and Berwick himself on his homeward route. 

He gave some thought to his day's adventure 
because it had broken in upon the monotony of school 
life, but on nearing the Hall, Jock Dean and his prob- 
able vicissitudes were dismissed from his mind. 

Not so with the object of his compassion, Jock 
Dean. The poor unfortunate had known better days, 
but it was in long past years when the name had been 
spelt with a final e, which vowel had been dropped 
somewhere among his changing fortunes. It had been 
so long since Jock had been the recipient of a kind 



136 Berwick's Mistake. 

action that he exalted Berwick into an object of almost 
adoring worship. To think that anybody would bring 
water to restore him, wicked, unlucky Jock Dean, to 
save his worthless life, why he had thought only that 
morning that every man's hand was against him. He 
was just in that frame of mind where a good influence 
might be his salvation. 

The meeting with Jock Dean was on Wednesday. 
Saturday afternoon Charlie Phipps called Berwick to 
go walking with him. Charlie had been thinking 
matters over as well as Seepie, and relying on his influ- 
ence with Berwick as an older boy and a friend, he 
undertook to restore good feeling between Berwick 
and Harry. 

He broached the subject, however, more guardedly 
and with greater tact than Seepie had done, and he 
talked long and earnestly. He found his companion 
more obstinate than he had supposed possible, and at 
last he felt that he had exhausted all his arguments 
and there was no more to be said. After a period of 
silence Berwick said: 

''Phipps, I don't want to lose your friendship, but 
I must say that you have a surface acquaintance with 
Andrews, as I had for several years. Since I have 
known him as he really is, I have had cause enough 
to hate him, and now I feel mean enough to wish to 
mortify or disgrace him in some way." 

" It is to be hoped no opportunity will present itself 



Berwick' s Mistake. 137 

while you bear this malice, and in the meantime I shall 
keep a friendly watch over both you and Harry. I 
am sure there is some terrible misunderstanding which 
time alone can set right. ' ' 

So absorbed were the boys that they had not no- 
ticed the advance of a third party. Their earnest 
converse had led them to the extreme end of the play- 
grounds near the river, and now just outside the pal- 
ings stood a man whom Berwick recognized at once 
as his alley acquaintance. Thinking of course the 
man sought him for money's sake, he left Phipps and 
leaning over the fence held out his hand with a dollar 
in it. 

' ' Can I do anything for you to-day ? ' ' Berwick 
asked this because he was at a loss for something to 
say. 

Jock at first looked insulted at the supposition that 
he had come begging and hanging his head doggedly, 
replied : 

" I didn't come after ye fur money; I come to see if 
ye needed a sarvice o' any kind." 

" No," answered Berwick without withdrawing his 
hand, " I am much obliged to you. But you might 
need this change." 

Sheepishly Jock took it and hastily put it out of 
sight, and then doffing his well-worn cap said: ' 'Good- 
day to ye, gentlemen," and in a lower tone to Berwick, 
''call on me when ye need me." 



138 Berwick's Mistake. 

Berwick explained to Phipps as they retraced their 
steps to the Hall: "■ A vagrant I met the other day 
at the wharf. I hope he won't be dogging my 
footsteps continually, its a nuisance! " 

Berwick would not have spoken with such calm dis- 
missal of the whole matter, could he have heard 
the muttered malediction pronounced upon the head 
of some one as Jock hurried along by the water side 
until he gained a rude shanty, whose shabbiness was in 
keeping with its out-door surroundings and in-door 
connections. 

Rushing in through the half-barred door, he ex- 
claimed: 

"Hurrah, mates! a drink all rodnd, and somethin' 
left to stake on the next deal. What wouldn' t a body 
do for the giver o' this ? ' ' 



Berwick' s Mistake. 139 



CHAPTER V. 



THE EXCURSION. 



JOCK DEAN sat on a low porch which formed the 
front of a miserable dwelling overlooking the river. 
It was a lovely day, such days as late winter can bring 
to cheat us into believing that spring is among us. 

The early morning sun lit up the waters with shim- 
mering glory and mantled the hills beyond with ever- 
changing hues of light and shade. But Jock thought 
not of the glittering flash following in the wake of the 
passing oars-man, or even the dignified glide of the 
laden steamer far out on the river; if his thoughts 
dwelt at all upon the scene before him, they consisted 
merely of fleeting remembrances of sundry duckings, 
divings, or fishings, or perhaps they reverted to the 
pirate's craft among other and less public waters. For 
poor Jock had trodden well-nigh all the dark ways of 
sin, and had gone from one to another trying to silence 
the remnants of a conscience yet in his possession. 

His early life was passed on an English farm. He 
came of good parentage; his father and mother both 
belonged to England's yeomanry. But a life of 



140 Berwick^ s Mistake. 

adventure so glowingly and attractively pictured by 
pernicious literature had tempted him from his home, 
and the first wrong step led to others until he found 
himself fast bound in chains of sin and crime. 

Many lands and climes had witnessed his wanderings, 
but he had of late come to consider America his 
adopted home. The craziest crafts stay nearest the 
shore, and the poor wrecked man felt it necessary to 
have a place of anchorage now that the premature 
decay of manhood's powers rendered the "old boat no 
longer sea-worthy." 

Foremost among Jock's reflections that morning 
were suggestions of various ways and means by which 
he could assist his one friend, as he fondly termed 
Berwick. Gratitude still dwelt in the outcast's breast 
and would have been one of the surest means of win- 
ning him to better things had any one cared to try. 
Poor Jock ! his " one friend ' ' would have repudiated 
the title, and there was no other human help at hand. 
At last he seemed satisfied with the result of his med- 
itations and rising shook himself like a great dog. 
Grinning broadly he said to himself as he entered the 
hovel, '* Now, rU be a gentleman for awhile, I guess." 

Emerging in the course of an hour, he was as nearly 
transformed as it was possible for a man of his stamp 
to become. The loose blouse and baggy ragged 
breeches had given place to a plain suit of clothes, 
somewhat the worse for wear, but still neat and 



Berwick' s Mistake. 141 

arranged with some deference to the becoming. The 
fraying cap was replaced by a slouch hat whose brim 
on one side was rolling and on the other side flaring. 
But the most remarkable thing about the new man was 
a shirt front not exactly clean, but set off to great ad- 
vantage in the wearer's eyes by a fresh paper collar 
and a black cravat. A casual observer would have 
supposed him an ordinary plodding man with a well- 
earned title to respectability, and only one well versed 
in human physiognomy would have read a secret lying 
under the imperturbable exterior. Jock evidently had 
an errand of his own upon whose execution he was 
bent. 

At Edgerton Hall the intermediate examinations 
were over, and the school had resumed its usual duties 
and daily round. Harry Andrews came out well from 
his examinations and for a new boy his success was 
almost without precedent. All seemed to be smooth 
and fair under his feet, and no day however brief 
seemed to depart without some specially studious 
' * deed to crown it. ' ' 

In one department alone did Berwick transcend 
Harry, and that was in the debating society. It seemed 
that Harry was not to follow his father's profession 
unless perseverance should bring self-confidence, for he 
seemed to lose all self-control when upon the floor alone 
facing the smallest audience. Berwick, on the contrary, 
was complete master of himself in debate and h]s 



142 Berwick's Mistake. 

calmness inspired listeners with confidence in his abil- 
ities. By his success in the society debates and his 
power in declamation on all occasions, impromptu or 
studied, he won the title of the orator of the school. 
Harry felt secretly glad that Berwick carried off envi- 
able laurels in some of the school's departments, for 
he knew that his one-time friend was fast becoming 
more and more embittered, and consequently self-cen- 
tered. 

One morning early in March, Dr. Edgerton made 
the welcome announcement that he was going to give 
the school a holiday, that he had chartered a boat to 
carry them all to Tazewell's Museum and he wanted 
them to spend a happy and profitable day. Youthful 
enthusiasm would not be suppressed but found vent in 
three cheers for Dr. Edgerton and three more for the 
holiday. The boys then dispersed to make their sim- 
ple preparations for the short trip. 

Tazewell's Museum was on an island three miles 
below Conington and it was a favorite resort in that 
region. The Museum contained some specimens of 
value, and the good Doctor always felt that the school 
year would be incomplete without a trip to the Mus- 
eum and a view of its collections for the benefit of the 
boys. 

He invariably chose a beautiful day in the early 
spring because, he said in his simple-mindedness, it 
gave the boys a holiday when they least expected it. 



Berwick' s Mistake. 143 

Coming, however, about the same time every year, it 
had ceased to be a surprise to the boys, though a 
knowledge of the good in store for them never de- 
tracted from their enjoyment when it came. Then 
they could go to Tazewell's Museum when they could 
go nowhere else, for the building was open summer 
and winter and made perfectly comfortable for visitors. 
There were three hotels on the island and while two 
were only summer hotels, the other was ready every 
day in the year to furnish accommodations and meals. 

In less than an hour after the announcement of a 
holiday, ' ' The Clipper ' ' was proving true to her name 
by carrying the school rapidly down to Mary's Island. 
Arrived there Dr. Edgerton told the boys they had 
permission to scatter and enjoy themselves, the sole 
embargo he laid upon their liberty was that they must 
not go beyond hailing distance of the Museum, and 
they must not stay out on the ground too long at a time 
as it was early spring and the ground was apt to be 
damp. 

The day was a charming one with sun and air so 
wooing that very few boys sought the Museum shades 
just then; most of them sauntered or hurried to well- 
know resorts through the grounds, while many disper- 
sed along the river banks on the look-out for more 
than ordinary amusements. 

Charles Phipps and Berwick were together as usual 
and the former had undertaken to show his new friend 



144 Berwick^ s Mistake. 

all the attractions of the place. Turning an angle near 
the river bank, they saw a short distance ahead three 
men fastening to the bank a row boat in which they 
had evidently just arrived. Berwick was intensely 
annoyed to recognize Jock Dean as one of the men, 
but perceiving that he and his companion were not yet 
seen, he made a significant gesture to Charlie and they 
quickly walked away in the other direction. 

"I don't see why I am constantly meeting that 
man," said Berwick in an agitated tone, '* I am sure I 
don't seek him. Wonder how much he would require 
never to cross my path again." 

' ' Perhaps money is the spell that binds him to you. 
Suppose you don't give him any more." 

*' I'll take your suggestion. It has a good ring and 
perhaps may be effectual In shaking him off." 

About a half hour later Jock was seated on the edge 
of a pier which extended out into the river perhaps a 
hundred yards. Five or six boys, among them Harry 
Andrews, were bound for that pier, because they had 
heard it condemned and they wanted to indulge that 
boyish sentiment that rather likes the element of risk 
and danger. 

At first they all regarded Jock with some curiosity 
and shyness, but that soon wore off and they talked to 
him as freely as they talked among themselves. 

' ' Andrews, " said a boy named Stockard, ' ' wouldn' t 
it be a lark for any boy who has pluck enough to walk 
out to the edge of that pier ? ' ' 



Berwick' s Mistake. 145 

* * I don' t suppose any body would be so fool-hardy 
as to attempt such a thing after the pier has been pro- 
nounced dangerous," answered Harry. 

Jock, who had started when Andrews' name was 
spoken, here turned quickly to the boy and said: 
" Who calls that pier dangerous ? On'y some people 
what's afeard o' ther own shadders. I've got a chum 
who walked out ther no longer than yisterday, and I 
dar you to do it. They call ye a brave boy, do they? 
Well now, prove it by showin' *em ye' re not afeard." 

Harry did not like to have his actions sustain the 
accusition of cowardice, but he first looked around 
among his companions for some encouragement before 
accepting the man's strange challenge. 

"Don't do it, Andrews." ''I wouldn't," several 
said, but Stockard urged: ''Why not? The man 
ought to know better than we do about it. ' ' 

'' Know ? O' course I know. I'd do it myself but 
that wouldn't show how brave this here young chap 
is," with a sneering emphasis on the word brave, 
and Jock looked at Harry disdainfully. 

Goaded on by these taunts Harry jumped on the 
pier and was about to trust himself to its rottenness 
when a voice called loudly: 

" Andrews, what in the world are you going to do ?" 
It was Phipps who spoke as he ran swiftly to join the 
group, looking in an alarmed way at Harry on the 
pier. 



146 Berwick's Mistake. 

" This man assures me the pier is perfectly safe and 
has dared me to make trial of it. As my head don't 
swim, I have undertaken to prove my bravery." 

''You can just prove your moral courage by step- 
ping off again. My word is of as much value as this 
man's and I assure you that no one has ventured on 
that pier for years. Who removed the danger signal?' ' 
Phipps looked suspiciously at Jock and yet he felt at a 
loss to know why the man should desire to endanger 
one of the Edgerton boys. ' ' It was here when I 
passed an hour ago. ' ' 

" As I never was here afore, I can't tell ye nothin' 
about it," and his words conveyed more truth than he 
intended. 

" Why is not the pier destroyed ? Might it not be 
a snare to some other thoughtiess people ? ' ' questioned 
Harry. 

' ' I think there is some absurd story about a person 
of rank, the Grand Duke Alexis perhaps, having 
walked to the edge with the support of his valet's arm, 
and this pier must remain a monument to titled bravery. 
For my own part, I think there are a thousand braver 
things that we may find to do every day, with all due 
deference to you, Andrews. ' ' 

" I trust I shall profit by your rebuke, Phipps; and 
now let's seek other playing quarters, this vicinity has 
become too suggestive for my comfort." 

"Agreed," responded the boys, and they moved 
off leaving Jock to his solitary reflections. 



Berwick's Mistake. 147 

It was late in the afternoon when in an unguarded 
moment Berwick found himself a prey to Jock. Curb- 
ing his irritation he felt for a coin, when remembering 
his vow to Phipps he withdrew his hand empty. Jock 
was keen enough to see the movement and its result, 
but far from construing it rightly he thought the boy 
had found himself without money. Berwick's words 
confirmed this impression. 

" I can't help you in any way to-day," and he was 
moving off when Jock detained him as he had done 
once before by catching his arm and bending forward 
said: *' I jist been a wantin ye to know that any time 
ye may have need o' me ye can find me at a house on 
the river, third house from the hotel. ' ' 

* ' You are one of the most grateful persons I ever 
saw, but I don't think I shall need your services at all, 
my man: if I do, I shall certainly call on you. Good- 
bye." 

Thus summarily dismissed Jock had to subside, but 
he looked after the retreating figure and soliloquized: 
"But I'll please ye yet and show ye that I mean my 
thanks." 

The boys returned to Edgerton Hall in time for sup- 
per and all declared the day had been a glorious one, 
full of frolic and fun, not unmixed with some slight 
profit from the Museum exhibit. 

Among his mail next day Harry found a letter from 
his mother in which she told him that the i6th was 



148 Berwick^ s Mistake. 

Ida's birth-day and she suggested that he send her a 
simple brooch or some other small piece of jewelry. 
Of course the money accompanied the suggestion, for 
school-boys are never supposed to be * ' flush. ' ' 

After school Harry carried his letter to Dr. Edgerton 
and asked his permission to go into town and make the 
desired purchase. Consent was readily given and 
Harry had quite an air of importance as he yelled 
good-bye to the different groups in passing down to and 
out of the front gates. Many ran after him eager to 
know his destination, but he playfully refused to give a 
satisfactory answer, choosing rather to excite their curi- 
osity and gratify it on his return. "I wish I had 
asked the Doctor to let one of the boys go with me," 
he soliloquized after he was fairly beyond the school 
grounds and had begun to realize that he had a long 
walk before him. But it was too late now, he would 
lose too much time in returning to seek company, so 
he consoled himself by thinking it was the first time he 
had been out alone since he left home. 

The suggestion of home recalled Berwick and he 
found himself wondering if good feeling would ever be 
restored between them. The lapse of months had 
softened him wonderfully toward Berwick and he long- 
ed to break down the wall of separation which seemed 
to be strengthening instead of weakening as the days 
came and went. Knowing, however, that no effort of 
his could accomplish the desired end, he felt that he 



Berwick's Mistake. 149 

could do no more than hope and pray and wait for a 
more favorable turn in the tide. 

So absorbed was he in his reflections that he did not 
notice a man advance from an open door- way just after 
he had passed, look at him fixedly a few minutes and 
then follow him, keeping about a square's distance in 
the rear. 

Harry walked on unconscious of the man following, 
and turned finally into the street where the shop he 
sought was to be found. Entering it, he made known 
his wants to a clerk and was shown some veiy handsome 
jewels. Harry bent over them admiringly, for even a 
boy is caught by the lustre of beautiful and costly gems, 
but he told the clerk of the modest sum he wished to 
pay for a brooch and the clerk leaving the gems still 
before him went to another case to procure what he 
desired. 

Left alone, Harry found himself nudged familiarly on 
the shoulder by somebody's elbow. Raising his eyes 
he saw at his side Jock Dean all in his best array. In- 
voluntarily the boy shrank back; for some reason he 
felt that this man with whom he had had one singular 
experience and of whose very name he was ignorant, 
meant him no good. 

*'Buyin' your sweetheart some trinkets, eh?" queried 
Jock. 

Harry felt like disdaining all reply, but swallowing 
his chagrin he answered civilly, **No, I am not yet 
blessed with such good fortune as a sweetheart." 



150 Berwick's Mistake. 

The return of the clerk and Harry's attention to 
business shut off conversation for the time, but Jock 
still lingered near and annoyed the boy very much by 
making several remarks indicating intimate acquaint- 
anceship. As soon as the clerk saw Harry's com- 
panion he had quickly pushed the box of jewels into 
the case and closed it, an action which Harry could 
not but feel to be a stranger's protest against such a 
companion for a youth of respectable appearance. 

The purchase was at last made, though Harry 
occupied a very much longer time in closing the bar- 
gain than he would naturally have taken, hoping 
the officious vagrant would go his way. 

Jock was evidently waiting for him for he left the 
store with Harry and walked several squares with him, 
talking most of the time of the foolish ideas current 
regarding that pier. The whole conversation was un- 
comfortable for Harry and he made a resolution never 
to come into town again unaccompanied as long as he 
remained at Edgerton Hall. Great was his relief when 
Jock turned into a side street and said, "Well I 
guess our roads part here. Good-day and good luck 
to ye," even though Harry fancied there was a covert 
sneer in the man's very style of leave-taking. He did 
not feel safe until the big gates of Edgerton Hall 
closed behind him, and then he gave utterance to a 
hope that he might never again meet his man of the 
pier. 

The next morning the principal was waited upon by 



Berwick^ s Mistake. 151 

an elderly man carefully- dressed, whom the pupils 
surmised to be either a present or future patron of the 
school. In reality he proved to be a detective who 
informed the astonished Doctor that suspicion pointed 
strongly to one of his boys as the possessor of a 
valuable turquoise, stolen the evening previous from 
McLumley's jewelry establishment. It was useless 
for the good Doctor to storm or to plead the honor 
and innocence of one and all of his pupils; the stern 
accuser was Inflexible and Harry Andrews, the sus- 
pected boy, had to be called. 

It was some time before Harry could realize the 
situation and then he of course indignantly and with 
all the force of a virtuous soul refuted the charge. 
However, he had to submit to an ignominious search- 
ing of his pockets. 

When the detective found not the lost gem on 
Harry's person, Dr. Edgerton began most graciously 
to dismiss his guest. 

''Not so fast, my dear sir, all this young man's 
belongings must be searched. Are these the clothes, 
young gentleman, that you wore Into town yesterday?' ' 

*'I wore my other coat." "You will please take me 
to that coat, ' ' said the detective pompously. 

The three went together to Harry's room and the 
latter pointed to his coat hanging on its peg and felt 
himself growing angry as the Intruder rumaged 
mercilessly through all the pockets. From the outside 
left-hand pocket was produced the missing jewel! 



152 Berwick's Mistake. 



CHAPTER VI. 



REPARATION. 



HARRY was struck dumb by the sight of the 
jewel; he felt there must be sleight-of-hand 
about it or he was the victim of a practical joke. 
View the matter as he would, the fact remained that he 
was being accused by an officer of the law of a horrible 
sin. He, an innocent one, was held fast in the toils 
of some malicious power and the reiterated assertions 
of his innocence were but proofs of guilt in the eyes of 
the detective. Overwhelmed by his misfortune he 
could only say "I never took it, sir, and I don't know 
how it came into my pocket. I am sure there will be 
some explanation." 

The whole school rose indignant at this charge 
against their beloved play-mate, though some were 
staggered by the finding of the turquoise. 

Berwick was shocked beyond measure. Whatever 
else he might believe about Harry he knew the sin of 
thieving did not lie at his door, and he almost felt 
himself called upon to rise and vindicate his former 



Berwick's Mistake. 153 

friend. In the midst of all Seepie found Berwick alone 
and as was her custom she ''pitched into him." 

"Somehow," she said, "I feel like your enmity has 
been the cause of this trouble. ' ' 

"That is very unreasonable, Seepie, for while I can't 
understand Harry's implication in this affair, I am 
sure I've had nothing to do with it." 

"Well, one thing is certain," concluded Seepie, 
"you are going to find your judgment against the 
poor boy as false as these present charges. Mark my 
words!" 

As Seepie left him his mail was handed in, two 
letters, one from Lucia and the other addressed in a 
strange hand. Curiosity prompted the opening of the 
latter first and what was his amazement and con- 
sternation to read the following, written in a stiff 
scrawling hand. 

"I hope it ill give ye plesshur to no I hav bin the 
feller to do yer enemy the bad turn hes met with. I 
herd ye say ye hated him and I had to do sumthin fur 
ye to show my thanx. I hav lef america agin an ye 
wont see me enny more but I ill remember to my di in 
da the feller as saved my life — yers sur rispecfly Jock 
Dean. 

If Berwick had been a condemned criminal his face 
could not have been more despairing in its expression. 
Forgetting Lucia's letter he paced up and down the 
room recalling all the recent events. He remembered 



154 Berwick' s Mistake. 

the apparition of Jock the day he and CharHe had the 
now memorable conversation. Of course then was the 
time Jock heard his expression of hatred towards 
Harry. He knew now why the fellow had dogged his 
footsteps with constant proffers of service. After all, 
Seepie was right; he had been the cause of all this 
trouble. 

A torrent of different emotions almost overcame 
him. Harry in trouble, and such dire trouble, was to 
him the Harry of other days; in lifting from him this 
public accusation he felt he must also bury all private 
animosity; in his deep humiliation he was willing to 
acknowledge himself all wrong and make full restitu- 
tion toward his friend. 

Then came the question, what could be done for 
Harry ? The note unsupported by other testimony was 
of no value, the one witness who could establish the 
poor boy's innocence had fled no one knew whither, 
and would probably never be heard from again. Ber- 
wick began to feel that his story might look like a 
very sensational and improbable one. None of his 
evidence, correct as it was, would have one feather's 
weight with judge or jury, and all things considered, it 
looked dark for Harry. 

He must unburden his mind to some one so he 
sought Seepie, thinking it was but fair that she should 
know. He had great faith in her clear-headedness, 
and a vague hope came that she might discover a path 



Berwick! s Mistake. 155 

out of the darkness. Having found her he asked if 
she couldn't take him to some place where they would 
be secure from eavesdroppers and interruptions as he 
had matters of moment to communicate. Seeing the 
intense earnestness of the youth and the grief expressed 
in his countenance, Seepie made one heroic effort and 
rising equal to the occasion, she handed him a key 
saying, " Go to my room and wait for me, I will join 
you presently." 

In an odd angle of the spacious middle mansion 
Berwick came to Seepie' s room, the mysterious 
chamber of the house, and letting himself in removed 
the key to the inside. He fully appreciated the excep- 
tional honor conferred upon him, and at any other time 
would have taken a keen interest in the room and its 
belongings. While the apartment had its peculiar 
individuality, it was simplicity itself in its appoint- 
ments. 

Opposite the door nodded a trunk of uncertain age, 
like its possessor; above it on a wide shelf stood one 
bereaved-looking book which might have been mis- 
taken for one of the sleeping fathers, for to all appear- 
ances its majestic repose was never molested. This 
book Seepie was wont to refer to below stairs as her 
library. Closer scrutiny proved the volume to be 
Webster's Unabridged and I have always thought it 
a great pity its author could never know of this one 
instance of its elevation to the exclusion of all other 



156 Berwick's Mistake. 

literature. The curtains of the couch, for Seepie was 
too old-fashioned to sleep unshielded by curtains, were 
so heavy that the great marvel was she ever breathed 
through them. Such draperies contained in them- 
selves ideas of everlasting repose, and small wonder 
the occupant of the bed carried about with her sug- 
gestions of slumbers indulged in so freely there. 

To the right of the door was displayed a huge chest 
of drawers whose antique carvings would have caused 
the heart of an antiquary to swell with envy; such an 
one would then and there have told her to name her 
own price and close the bargain. I can well imagine 
her under such circumstances flashing indignant fire 
from animated eyes; for Seepie' s belongings were just 
as essential parts of her existence as was the oxygen she 
breathed, and no money could have bought even a 
faded picture from the walls. The things mentioned 
were the oddities of the room, the other furniture was 
ordinary and commonplace. 

Berwick had not long to wait, and as soon as Seepie 
came he showed her the letter and told her all. 
While the kind-hearted woman sympathized with the 
boy's grief she was rather severe with him, for she 
wanted him to realize the danger of yielding to evil 
influences. She talked very plainly and showed him 
how he had allowed Harry to fall from his esteem only 
because of gossiping tales and hasty judgements; that 
his obstinacy and ignoble pride had widened the 



Berwick' s Mistake. 157 

breach and made a broad entrance- way, not only for 
his own sin of false accusation of and hatred towards 
his friend, but also for the sin of an abandoned soul 
whose repentance and conversion could not be com- 
passed as easily as his own. Berwick recognized in an- 
guish of soul all the terrible consequences of his de- 
parture from right, and he evinced a genuine desire to 
make all the reparation in his power. * ' What can I 
do ? " was his cry. ' * How can I save Harry ? ' ' 

Seepie was just the adviser the boy needed. ' ' First ' ' 
she said softly, * * you must ask God to forgive you and 
help you in your efforts to do right; with His aid 
you will be ready for action. Then go and secure a 
lawyer and the detective who came after Harry, and 
find the guilty man and make him write out the 
affidavit of his guilt in the presence of you three. ' ' 

" More easily said than done," answered the boy, 
"don't you see the man has left the country?" 
extending the note. 

*'Pooh!" exclaimed Seepie disdainfully, "that's a 
hoax. He thought you were as depraved as himself 
or he wouldn' t have sent that note right away; take 
my word for it, he is in hiding somewhere in this very 
town and means to let you know it when it suits his 
convenience. ' ' 

"You really believe this ? " asked Berwick excitedly. 

"I do, indeed," was the assuring reply. 

"Then I'll go at once." 



158 Berwick' s Mistake. 

"Remember the first thing to be done," cautioned 
his good friend as he was leaving the room, "and 
afterwards I may trust you to reconcile yourself to 
Harry." 

"You may," said Berwick earnestly, "and I shall 
always feel very grateful to you, Seeple." 

Bail had been given for Harry and he stayed in his 
room the greater part of his time. He had forborne 
to write home hoping for some brightening of the dark 
mysterious clouds around him. 

Dr. Edgerton's permission was easily obtained for 
a leave of absence for Berwick and although not put 
in possession of all the facts, enough was told to make 
him understand that It was a measure looking towards 
Harry's vindication. Before leaving, Berwick requested 
him to inform Harry that a clue had been obtained to 
the perpetrator of this calumny, but he added, ' 'Will 
you please withhold my name for the present ?" 

"Certainly, my boy. If you desire It. Do I rightly 
surmise that you would yourself like to be the bearer 
of good news to your companion ?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"God bless you, Berwick," fervently responded the 
Doctor, and with a gladdened heart the boy sped upon 
his errand. As he was leaving the grounds Charlie 
Phipps called to him to wait just a moment. 

"Foster," he said, "I don't know where you are 
going nor do I want to quiz you, only I feel Intutitively 



Berwick' s Mistake. 159 

that you are working for Harry. There is one thing 
I want you to know, it may be important. I had a 
talk with Harry this morning and he recalls for the 
first time since this stunning blow fell that your 
pensioner, Jock Dean, came into the jewelry store and 
stayed until he left and afterwards walked several 
squares with him. He seems to attribute this calamity 
to that man's agency and now that I remember his 
strange conduct towards Harry down at St. Mary's 
the other day, I am inclined to accept the same view 
of the case., 

"What did the villain do at St. Mary's?" questioned 
Berwick. "I did not hear of it." 

Charlie related Jock's challenge and his own inter- 
vention on Harry's behalf. When he finished 
Berwick said, **Yes, Phipps, that man has been 
the cause of all this and I am going now to see if he 
can be apprehended. But don't tell Andrews 'till I 
come back. ' ' 

''I understand," cheerily responded Phipps. * 'Good- 
bye and success to your mission. ' ' 

Berwick first found the detective and stated the case 
fully. Reluctant as the man was to have his customary 
shrewdness put to the blush, yet he was impressed by 
the straightforwardness of Berwick's story and after 
the first hesitation, entered with interest into plans for 
Jock's capture. 

Disguising himself as a vagabond he followed 



i6o Berwick's Mistake. 

Berwick's lead to the ''house by the river, third from 
the hotel," specified by Jock as his rendezvous. Alas! 
Seepie was wrong for once; the woman in charge of 
the domicile declared most solemnly that the man 
sought had gone by the river, she did not mention 
direction, the day before. A search, thorough and 
prolonged, revealed nothing, and they were obliged 
to accept the fact that Jock was a fugitive. Berwick 
almost gave way under the force of this revelation, 
but the detective reassured him. 

' 'You will have to wait a day or two, young man. 
Leave the matter to me. He has but a start of 
twenty-four hours and that is a small difficulty for our 
profession to surmount. Go home and be ready to 
come at any minute I send for you. I must go to 
work, the minutes are precious. Good-bye." 

Berwick's dejected air revealed his failure to those 
awaiting his coming before his lips had spoken and it 
took all of Charlie's hopeful words and Seepie' s en- 
couraging views to brace him up. He kept aloof 
from Harry, for he felt that only the success of this 
plan for Harry's exoneration could pave the way for 
their meeting. 

Harry, in the meantime, was obliged to apprise his 
father of the distressing affair, and he was greatly 
comforted by letters containing repeated assurances of 
his father's confidence and faith in his integrity. Mr. 
Andrews also said that his mother and sisters should 
know nothing of the afiair for a while. 



Berwick's Mistake. i6i 

After two days of agonizing suspense, Berwick 
received a welcome message from the detective. It 
contained instructions to repair to the wharf hotel and 
await orders. Very quickly the boy went and he had 
only a few impatient minutes to himself when a 
stranger came forward and said, **If your name is 
Berwick Foster, you may follow me." 

Reposing perfect confidence in his guide, Berwick 
followed him to the water's edge and entered with 
him a small row boat, obeying at once a signal 
to use one of the oars. Evening had come to 
throw its shadow over iair day, but ere night drew 
surrounding objects to its oblivion, Berwick found 
himself landing on the shore of St. Mary's Island. 
His look of surprise was lost in the gathering dark- 
ness but it must have been devined by his com- 
panion, who after securing the boat said, "Be 
prepared for surprises, but don't betray yourself. 
Only obey orders." 

From a clump of trees near a man advanced whom 
Berwick recognized at once as his friend, the detective. 

"Don't lose the sound of my steps," he said, "but 
follow at a distance." 

Soon they came in sight of a light and Berwick 
and his companion halted because the leading footsteps 
ceased. The first detective, for the two men were of 
the same profession, now returned and bade Berwick 
go forward alone, take a survey of the house just 



i62 Berwick^ s Mistake, 

ahead and of its inmates through the Hghted window, 
and then come back and report. 

Berwick advanced as guardedly as if that brief ex- 
perience with detectives had endowed him with all 
their caution, and looking through the partially 
obstructed window he saw within four men around the 
table playing cards. A second glance discovered Jock 
to be one of the party and the thought came that 
Seepie was not so far wrong after all. 

The house was a mere hovel, with one room and an 
attic, situated in a most isolated and unfrequented 
part of the island. Here Jock had hidden himself for 
the time, meaning to return to Conington if no sus- 
picion was cast upon him, or if he found himself 
sought he could easily go further. 

Berwick returned and related what he had seen. 
Wood, the managing detective, said, ' ' We will have 
to retire into this grove until the three men leave, for 
Jock is lodging here temporarily alone. The hut be- 
longs to one of the men yonder, but he is always oft 
and away by midnight — absent half the night at some 
ugly work." 

Having selected their post of waiting and observa- 
tion, Wood said to Berwick, * ' Perhaps you would 
like to know how I traced him." 

* ' I would, indeed. ' ' 

* ' I thought, ' ' continued the informant, ' ' that the 
woman we interviewed could put us on his track if 



Berwick^ s Mistake. 163 

she would, and after offering her a sufficiently large 
bribe she told me he had gone down the river. Not 
another scrap would she tell and it may have been she 
knew no more. Knowing St. Mary's to be a favorite 
hiding place, I spent all my time here. This morning 
I saw a man answering the description you gave me 
coming in very early with a boat load of fish, and I 
watched him as he carried his haul to this hut. Of 
course he didn't see me. I at once despatched for my 
reserve force, four of whom are now within calling 
distance and the fifth is with us. If trouble with all 
the men arises, we will not be overpowered. Our men 
sent the message to you, one of them met you at the 
wharf, and you know the rest." 

' ' How did you find out who Jock was lodging with"? 

"All the information I wanted I got from an island 
fisherman who is in our pay. " 

Silence was now enjoined and Berwick found the 
time of waiting very long. At last the signal to move 
was given and the three proceeded to the cabin. 
Though Berwick's untrained ears had not heard the 
departure of the men, yet Jock was seated at the table 
alone, dejectedly fingering some small coins. 

As had been prearranged, Berwick pushed open the 
poorly-fastened door with a slight eftbrt and entered 
alone. The sudden appearance of a ghost would have 
caused poor Jock less of a shock than the very human 
figure of Berwick Foster at that time and place. He 



164 Berwick' s Mistake, 

was immediately convinced, though he could not have 
expressed it, that he had misinterpreted his ** one 
friend," and would now feel the displeasure of him 
trom whom he least expected censure. Hanging his 
head under Berwick's cool survey he said in a low 
tone, '*I done it fur you, an' talkin' 'bout thanks, 
ye aint got none. ' ' 

' ' I am not here to argue. If you meant to do me 
a service you have utterly failed, and now I have come 
for you to go back to Conington and prove Harry 
Andrew's innocence." Then softening as he saw the 
utter dejection of the man, and remembering his own 
share in the guilt, Berwick continued, ' ' Nothing will 
be done to you. I will get you off from punishment, 
because you didn' t really steal the turquoise, you know. 
You meant all the time it should be found. Come 
Jock." 

''I'm not goin with ye." 

**0h! yes, you are my man," chimed in Wood, 
* * we have been interested listeners and now you must 
come with us. ' ' 

Jock saw there was no alternative, so he doggedly 
consented to go. As his testimony was important and 
they feared he might attempt to escape, the detectives 
manacled him and led him away between them. The 
boat was unfastened and he ordered in, when being one 
moment free, he cleared bank and boat with a bound 
and fell with a splash into the dark river. 



Berwick's Mistake, 165 

**Oh! he has escaped," exclaimed Berwick. 

*' Escape is impossible, manacled as he is," replied 
Wood. ''The wretch has commited suicide. You 
will now have to rely upon our testimony, young man, 
which will be all that is necessary to clear your friend." 

* ' But can nothing be done to save poor Jock? ' ' 

' * No, the night is too black. We may as well return 
to Conington. ' ' 

Berwick was now the one to be pitied. He felt that 
this final tragedy, the loss of a human life, and such a 
life, was but one of the faults of his sin. While he 
was guiltless of any immediate participation in Jock's 
evil plans, he could not shake off a certain measure of 
responsibility for those dreadful events. A thoroughly 
repentant boy was he, ready to devote his life's remain- 
der to atonement for his one grievious mistake. 

He was the first to carry the good news of acquittal 
to Harry, and a speedy reconciliation followed. 

The detectives were generously recompensed by Mr. 
Andrews and by Berwick, who insisted upon bearing 
part of the expense. Jock's body was washed ashore 
below St. Mary's and Berwick saw him decently 
buried. 

It has been said that friendship is like china; when 
once broken, however carefully mended afterwards, it 
will always bear the mark of the cement. If this be 
true, then the friendship existing between Berwick and 
Harry was a grand exception. Ever afterwards they 



1 66 Berwick' s Mistake, 

were more devoted, more lenient towards each other's 
faults, more considerate of each other's feelings, and 
as a result they were more valuable as members of the 
youthful society at Edgerton Hall. 



AGNES. 



Agnes. 169 



AGNES. 



THE select Female Seminary of Reifton had just 
suspended work for the day, and was courteously 
dismissing the day pupils, sending them home by lane 
and highway. Each seemed to have her own par- 
ticular reason for being in a hurry; even the drones of 
the day appeared transformed by a breath of outer air 
into active-going and business-loving scholars. As a 
singular contrast to the homeward bound were four 
girls who sauntered slowly down the broad walk, and 
having reached the entrance gate, lingered there while 
the others passed out. The mystery was explained 
later when almost all the scholars were out of sight. 

The conversation before had been languishing and 
desultory, but now it assumed a most vivacious and 
interesting tone; it was plain that some pet plan was 
under discussion and maturing. For fully a half hour 
the four talked volubly on, though the winter afternoon 
was bleak and stray flakes of snow gave warning of 
more to follow. The falling crystals, however, only 
added intensity to their satisfaction and in high glee 
they separated to seek their several homes. If we 
follow Agnes Laramie, one of the quartette, to her 
home, we will learn the all-important secret. 



170 Agnes, 

Rushing into her mother's room with true school- 
girl impetuosity, she exclaimed breathlessly, ''Oh! 
mother, we are going evergreening Friday; that is, if 
you will let me. ' ' She seemed to take it for granted that 
her mother's permission was all that was necessary. 
Mrs. Laramie was a bright, clever little woman whom 
her two big boys were wont to call ' ' great mamma, ' ' 
as a teasing contrast to her slight, girlish figure, and a 
compliment to her superior mental, social and domestic 
qualities. She had wisely won and discreetly main- 
tained control over her children, and while entering 
into every innocent pleasure and enhancing it tenfold, 
she was slow to express either commendation or dis- 
approval until she had reviewed the situation thor- 
oughly. It was well she was such a capable woman 
for the whole family management of late years had 
devolved of necessity upon her. Mr. Laramie was a 
civil engineer and absent the greater part of the time. 
When our story begins he had been in a distant state 
six months and the time of his return was indefinite. 

Mrs. Laramie replied brightly and laughingly to 
Agnes' implied request. 

'' Of course, my love, I can't say yea or nay until I 
know more of your plan. Who are the indefinite 'we'? 
To what class of human endeavor does 'evergreening' 
belong ? Is it a word of Reifton Seminary coinage ' ' ? 

' ' Now mother, you are laughing at me ' ' said Ag- 
nes deprecatingly, though amused in spite of her 



Agnes. 171 

earnestness. ' ' Let me tell you about it. You know 
Mary Fitch, Ethel Mason, Anna Cunningham and I 
want to get up a Christmas celebration for our mission 
sewing-school, and you have promised us the use of 
our parlors. The particulars of the celebration itself 
we are going to keep a secret and surprise you all as 
well as the children. Only we four girls with Herbert's 
help are going to carry out the programme. Perhaps 
we may get Allie Fitch and Burt and Con Mason to 
help us too, but we haven't fully decided. To-day 
Mr. Ruling said our holiday would begin Friday 
instead of Saturday, because Miss Bertha has to leave 
Friday morning and Miss Annie is sick. 

* ' Mr. Ruling says it would be a lame day without 
either of them, so we had better add it to our holidays 
than maintain the farce of a school-day which belies 
its name. ' ' Here Agnes stopped to remember at what 
point she had digressed and Mrs. Laramie said, ' 'Well, 
I now understand who are going * evergreening ' but 
you have yet to explain the precise meaning of the 
term." 

'' I am just coming to that, mother; we girls want to 
get laurel and cedar to decorate the walls and stage." 

* ' Do I hear aright ? A stage ? Shall we entertain 
the little waifs with charades or private theatricals ? ' ' 

* ' Neither, Mamma, ' ' and Agnes laughed responsive 
to the merriment in her mother's eyes, *' but we mean 
to have some pretty effects. The boys will take us 



172 Agnes. 

Friday to Glenn's Gap where we can get a cart-load of 
evergreens and a pretty tree." 

*' Glenn's Gap is at least fifteen miles away and these 
are short winter days, my dear." 

**I know, mother, but Mary's aunt Mary wants us 
all to spend the night with her near the Gap and come 
home next day." 

''Why not let the boys get evergreens nearer 
home ? " 

** Because we wanted the fun of the trip. Oh! 
mother, don't say I can't go." 

''You know, my daughter, that I never deny you 
any reasonable request without a weighty cause. 
There is a reason which compels me to deny you this 
present pleasure, and I am sorry my child has set her 
heart on the trip. Don't ask me why, dear, but try to 
bear the disappointment bravely." 

Agnes felt that a girl of sixteen must not cry over a 
disappointment, so she choked back the fullness in her 
throat and walked to the window. For awhile the 
swiftly descending flakes seemed to mock her and in- 
vite to impossible joys, but in a short while the buoy- 
ancy of youth, combined with perfect confidence in her 
mother's judgement, triumphed over the dispairing 
out-look, and by the time night came the tea-bell 
interrupted a merry romp with her eighteen year 
old brother, Herbert. When Agnes carried her dis- 
appointment to school the next day, her three friends 



Ag-nes. 173 

decided unanimously to share her exile from paradise, 
and leave the evergreen gathering, as Mrs. Laramie 
had suggested, to the accommodating boys. 

Friday afternoon Mrs. Paulding, the Laramie's next 
door neighbor, came over to ask Agnes to spend the 
night with her. Her husband had been called away 
suddenly and having no one else in the house, she felt 
nervous and lonely. Agnes readily consented as Mrs. 
Paulding was one of her special favorites and she 
considered herself fortunate in being selected as com- 
panion. She went over soon after tea and spent a very 
pleasant evening. She and Mrs. Paulding occupied 
the same room and Agnes' bed was near a window 
which overlooked not only the neighbor's back prem- 
ises, but her father's also. 

Sometime during the night Agnes found herself 
sitting up in bed and leaning forward, her gaze riveted 
on a blaze not far distant. Regaining consciousness 
she realized that some explanation must attach to that 
fire. Unable alone to locate the flame, she roused 
Mrs. Paulding and asked what she thought it meant. 
They both decided that it was on an island just across 
a small stream which skirted the rear property on that 
side of the street. They argued that as there were no 
houses on that part of the island, the fire was built by 
butchers, who were perhaps killing hogs. But this 
theory was shaken by the fact that the fire seemed in 
undisputed possession of the ground, no figures could 



174 Agnes. 

be seen moving around, and even while they talked the 
flames seemed to have increased in volume. Consult- 
ing the watch they found it was but two o'clock, too 
early for a butcher's fire. 

They finally decided to hurry to Mrs. Laramie's and 
rouse the household, as there might be mischief brew- 
ing. Dressing quickly, they sallied bravely into the 
deserted street, and soon had the family awakened. 
Herbert found on investigation, that a board fence 
enclosing his father's rear premises had burnt, and he 
arrived in time to extinguish the flame, just as it was 
in the act of leaping on a shed, which covered a mass 
of hay and other combustibles. By so doing he was 
enabled to prevent great damage to the Laramies and 
perhaps to others. 

Every effort to discover the origin of the fire proved 
unavailing; no one could ever tell whether it was the 
work of an accidental spark or of an incendiary. 

The next morning Agnes was the heroine of the 
hour. The topic was fully discussed at the breakfast 
table, and Agnes was quizzed as to the mode of dis- 
covery. She could say nothing except that she awoke 
and found herself peering through the window at the 
flame, and wondering for a minute where she was and 
what it all meant. After breakfast Mrs. Laramie said 
to her, ' ' I think you may be glad now that I said ' No' 
to your pleasure excursion. Suppose you and Her- 
bert had both been absent last night. Even had the 



Agnes. 175 

fire been discovered by some one else, you would not 
now have the satisfaction of knowing that you saved 
our property, and perhaps our lives." 

''Oh! mother you were right; you always are and 
I shall never again murmur at any decree you may 
make. But, mother, what caused me to see the fire ? ' ' 

*' Certainly 'twas the guiding of the Father's hand, 
and I trust you will fully realize that truth, my daugh- 
ter, ' ' seriously responded her mother. Then changing 
her tone, she said, with gleaming eyes, ''but come, 
let us see who the 'bus is bringing us from the train, 
and you will understand why I didn't want you to be 
absent from home this morning." 

"Surely not Papa!" exclaimed the excited girl. 
"Oh! mother, how good you are," and Mrs. Laramie 
felt repaid for the trouble it had given to thwart Agnes 
without an apparent reason. 

Mr. Laramie it really was, and Agnes said she 
wouldn't have given the first kiss for a dozen 
" evergreenings." 

The father's return sent a thrill of joy through the 
household, and when Charlie, the oldest son, returned 
from college by the evening train to spend his holi- 
days, the family circle felt that its happiness was com- 
plete. Agnes' little sister, Mamie, five years old, and 
the two other juveniles of the family, Maury and 
Fred, testified their joy by all sorts of mischievious 
pranks, until everybody declared such holidays had 
never been known before. 



176 Agnes. 

Previous to all this influx of pleasure, Agnes thought 
she had worked with a will, but now new zest was 
added to work, ideas came like inspiration and the 
coming Christmas celebration received such brilliant 
touches here and there that it bid fair to excel any- 
thing of the kind ever conceived of. 

At last the all-eventful Christmas Eve arrived. Three 
o'clock was the hour appointed, so the children would 
have ample time after the celebration to get to their 
homes before dark, and also in order to give the 
household time to put the parlors in order before night. 
The children, many of whom came early and all of 
whom were there by half-past two, were taken into the 
back parlor where they were to wait until three. The 
school numbered thirty, but there were no less 
than fifty children present. Presisely at the hour ap- 
pointed the folding doors opened and the expectant 
little ones were marched to seats arranged for them, 
whence they could feast their eyes on a sight they had 
never before seen, and which their most beautiful 
dreams had never realized. 

The gas was burning brightly in the day-darkened 
room and revealed plainly every adornment. The 
pictures and walls where wreathed with evergreens 
and embelished with illuminated texts. Above the 
curtains, which concealed the stage, was a motto of 
welcome in laurel and holly and the curtain itself was 
ornamented. An organ led the childrens' carols, 
after which there was a prayer, and then for a few 



Agnes, 177 

minutes the clergyman tried to make the children 
understand the one great meaning of the gathering. 
The story of Christmastide was simply and briefly 
told and relieved by questions to which shyness only 
prevented better answers. He tried to Impress upon 
those little neglected and In some cases unlovely little 
ones, that It was human love and kindness born of the 
Divine, which would make them so happy that after- 
noon, and he urged them not only to imitate the good 
example of their teachers, who were doing so much 
for them, but to try to learn more of Him and be more 
like Him who had done for them more than the whole 
world could do, even If It tried. He then handed 
them over to the young ladles, who would not tire 
them, he said. 

The curtain was now drawn aside by Herbert for 
about two-thirds of the way, revealing a prettily dec- 
orated stage. The curtain and a screen concealed 
one end of the stage, and the children found them- 
selves wondering whether there could be anything 
priettier behind there. Charlie Laramie appeared 
dressed as a herald and made the following speach: 

''Children, I have come to tell you that the four 
seasons. Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter, have 
come here this evening to give you presents and to 
make you happy. I hope you will be grateful for 
their kindness and enjoy the gifts they bring." He 
then blew a horn and announced ''Spring." 

M 



178 Agnes, 

Anna Cunningham, appropriately dressed, now 
came upon the stage bearing a large wire frame in 
which were thirty small bouquets. She held them in 
front of her and recited the following: 

I come, the Genius of the Spring, 

On tired foot and weary wing; 

In sunny climes I left my crest 

To bring to you my season's best; 

Intruding thus on Winter's sway, 

To meet you, children, here to-day. 

I've brought with me the prettiest flowers, 

I've found among my vernal bowers, 

I give them with this Christmas cheer 

And say good-bye until next year. 

Spring then took her stand at the end of the stage 
farthest from the curtain, resting her flowery frame on 
the floor at her side. The herald then called * 'Sum- 
mer, ' ' and blew a blast on his horn which made the 
audience laugh. Mary Fitch, as Summer, advanced 
empty handed, but she was followed by Maury and 
Fred Laramie, fancifully dressed, who bore between 
them a hamper filled with tin cans. This odd spectacle 
certainly needed explanation and Summer quickly 
gratified the evident curiosity of all assembled. 
Stepping to the front she said: 

My sister. Spring, has been here I see. 
Sweet flowers she brought, but as for me, 
I've come a long distance to give you a treat. 
This bleak Winter-time will find hard to beat. 



Agnes, 179 

I give you a can, which when opened you'll find, 
Contains something nice, which will just suit your mind; 
As you mingle it now with your Christmas cheer, 
Perhaps you will wish that the Summer was here. 

Mary retired towards the back of the stage, near 
where Anna stood, and mounted guard over her 
hamper of cans. 

"Autumn" was next summoned by the herald. 
Ethel Mason, in sober gray, beautifully adorned with 
leaves of nature's own brilliant coloring, came in 
response to the call. The small boys were again in 
requisition and this time they bore a basket of rosy 
apples, mingled with odd-looking little fat bags. Her 
recitation was brief and to the point, like the 
proceeding. 

You know me, children, know me well; 
I'm Autumn. In the lonely dell 
Rare nuts you've found, and apples too, 
While following me the pastures through. 
'Tis only one short month agone, 
I gave my place to Winter's throne, 
But now from out my treasured store, 
I've brought you nuts and apples more; 
I trust they'll help make Christmas bright. 
For I must bid you now good-night. 

Autumn then stationed herself by her basket while 
"Winter" was loudly summoned. When Agnes 
appeared, clad in a semblance of snow and icicles, a 



1 80 Agnes. 

round of applause greeted her. With burning cheeks 
and air demure she gave her recitation as follows: 

The seasons three have spent their art, 
And given you of their wealth a part, 
But on my bleak and barren hills, 
Where lies the snow by ice-bound rills. 
The death of flower and fruit is tragic, 
I therefore have recourse to magic. 
And while I jingle merry bells. 
And holy Christmas music swells, 
I've built for you a fairy tree, 
Which you will now accept from me; 
And as the gifts make young hearts glad 
You'll think Old Winter's not so bad. 

As Agnes finished the curtains were drawn aside and 
the screen removed, displaying the tree in all its beauty. 
A lovely sight it was too, as the few tapers were lighted 
and the boys from the hall adjoining threw calcium 
lights on the stage. The branches of the tree had been 
dipped in a solution of alumn and the effect was like 
frost-work. Then gold and silver moss depended from 
the branches, while ornaments and pretty cornicopias 
added to the loveliness. The mission children must 
have felt that they were in enchanted land; it was really 
a sight in itself to see the awed admiration and intense 
wonder expressed in their faces. While the tapers 
burnt, each child was called by name and received 
from Spring, a small bouquet; from Summer, a can of 



Agnes. ' i8i 

fruit or vegetables; from Autumn, a bag of nuts and 
an apple; and from Winter, a cornicopia filled with 
candy. After the list of thirty names was exhausted, 
Autumn stepped forward and said she had more nuts 
and apples which she would be glad to distribute to 
children present who were not members of the school. 
Of course she added * * you could not expect to be 
remembered like the children who are regular attend- 
ants of the school." 

About twenty children were the recipients of her 
bounty. A carol and the benediction closed the even- 
ing and the children were dismissed. One of the 
larger scholars lingered to speak to Agnes, who was 
very much gratified to hear her say * ' Miss Agnes, the 
girls have asked me to say we all thank you and the 
other young ladies so much for being so kind to us." 

At the tea-table everyone was jubilant over the 
success of the afternoon. Mrs. Laramie asked who 
originated the four-act drama and who composed the 
orations. Agnes' conscious blushes betrayed the 
authorship before Herbert had time to say, ' ' The 
honor belongs to my gifted sister. ' ' 

" It was truly my daughter," said Mr. Laramie, "an 
admirably conceived and well executed thing of its 
kind, and I think you deserve to be congratulated on 
your success." 

''Thank you, papa, but I think your home-coming 
and mother's occasional suggestions and encourage- 
ment had much to do with the successful issue. ' ' 



1 82 • Agnes. 

' ' What I do not understand about it, ' ' said Mrs. 
Laramie/* is where all the money came from, for this 
evening's entertainment had its corresponding money 
value. ' ' 

"Mr. Clayburn," explained Agnes, ''gave us the 
money in the treasury appropriated to the school and 
there were some private contributions. We had 
enough money to buy ornaments for the tree, calcium 
lights and part of our presents. The deficiency we 
four girls made up out of our own pockets and those 
of our friends," with a significant glance at Herbert 
and Charlie." 

"Where did the flowers come from?" asked 
Maury. "They were hardest to get," answered 
Agnes, "but we sent to Philadelphia, and got our 
small bouquets for less than five cents apiece. ' ' 

* * Well, my children, ' ' said Mr. Laramie, "it is a 
great pleasure to come home and find you all so 
actively engaged in works of love for others. It is the 
only true road to peace now and hereafter. ' ' 

It is needless to add that the Laramies spent an 
ideal Christmas, happy in their family relations and 
in dispensing cheerfulness abroad. 



A BONA FIDE GHOST. 



A Bona Fide Ghost. 185 



A BONA FIDE GHOST. 

THERE was a real ghost in the Loring family. It 
was not one of those traditional spectres of the 
dim receding past which descend by inheritance from 
a long line of ancestors, and whose shadowy outline no 
human eye has ever seen. This ghost was a very 
modern affair destined perhaps to become a future 
inheritance but at present a real and almost tangible 
fact. The manner and time of its discovery corre- 
sponded precisely with all theories pertaining to ghostly 
visitations. 

The Loring family consisted of mother, father and 
four children. Gus and Dave Loring were twins and 
inseparable companions. Ella was twenty and unusu- 
ally well-developed in mind and body, while Madge 
was a precocious child of twelve. A new member had 
been added to the family two years previous in the 
person of a young lady cousin left an orphan by the 
death of her father, and to whom Mr. Loring had 
extended the shelter of his home. On the particular 
evening in question Mr. and Mrs. Loring with the 
cousin, Mary Lieberfelt, had gone to a concert, leaving 
the young people alone. The evening was a delightful 



1 86 A Bona Fide Ghost 

one in early October, and the bright moon -light flood- 
ing the hall had such a charming influence that Ella 
had begged to leave the gas unlighted there. 

The four were seated in the cozy sitting-room with 
the doors open, feeling gratified to have a comfortable 
fire on one hand and moonlight effects on the other. 
School-books were in front of each, but attention was 
drawn from studious thoughts by the topic of con- 
versation. Gus had introduced nutting expeditions as 
the topic. 

** I tell you how we'll manage it, girls," suggested 
Dave, as some difficulties presented themselves con- 
cerning the sisters' participation in the sport,*' we'll 
get father to hire a cart and old Ben will carry us four 
to Simmons' grove where we can get all the nuts we 
want. " " Wouldn' t a small spring- wagon be better, ' ' 
amended Gus. * * You girls take up more room than 
boys, and you could not ride home on the walnuts 
without staining your skirts." 

' * I shall recommend you as thoughtful solver of 
dilemmas to some Eastern monarch, Gus," said Ella 
with mimic applause. 

* ' My powers are limited. The talisman which 
guides me becomes dumb beyond the threshold of my 
father's house" replied Gus, falling into Ella's ro- 
mantic vein. 

"Well," said the more practical Dave, " I think we 
are taking time most severely ' by the fore-lock.' We 



A Bona Fide Ghost. 187 

may form a dozen plans yet before we really go 
nutting." 

** We alone suffer in so doing. It doesn't hurt Old 
Time, but our impatient fingers will doubtless grow 
tired of holding on," and Gus turned again to the 
book before him. '* While we are talking of nuts, I 
have a message from Miss Lynn Chisholm for you 
all," said Madge. 

A laugh followed the mention of the name. Miss 
Lynn was a mine of misapplied words, and she rarely 
gave utterance to a sentence which did not contain 
some great blunder. Her conversation was ludicrous 
to these well informed and clever young people, but 
they never betrayed in her presence the amusement 
they felt. She was a neighbor and a sensitive but well- 
meaning old maid, and the Lorings would not have 
wounded her feelings for any self-gratification. Among 
themselves, however, they enjoyed her quaint sayings 
and laughed over her distortion of words. 

"Well, bring out the negative-positive, absurdo- 
serio message, for such I dare say it is," said Gus. 

* * No, the message is intelligible this time, ' ' said 
Madge, but the smile did not subside as she continued, 
" she told me that we were all * indited to come into her 
grove and recept as many chestnuts as we could purvey 
home.' " 

* ' What do you think she told me the other day ? ' ' 
asked Ella. ' ' That her brother had been selected to 



1 88 A Bona Fide Ghost. 

the Probationer's Congress, but she hoped he wouldn't 
recept. He was down on whiskey, though, sometimes 
she thought he was too strenious on it." 

* * Did she mean, ' ' questioned Dave that he had been 
nominated a Prohibition candidate ? ' ' 

*'Yes," answered Gus, "I knew that." 

" She said a very funny thing at Mrs. Blair's funeral 
last week. Some man was very officious in Miss 
Lynn's special department of service, and she said to 
a friend, 'if that man didn't stop bein' so beneficious 
she would make her exile.' " 

**But it is kind of Miss Lynn to share her nuts 
with us and pleasant to know we will not really be 
indicted for gathering them. We must thank her 
appropriately." 

'' Miss Lynn is really one of the best hearted people 
I know, in spite of her eccentricities," said Ella. ** I 
have been making a pair of mittens and a comforter 
for her to let her know that we appreciate her many 
kind acts. Did you see how much I crocheted 
to-day, Madge?" 

"• No, I was out with Minnie Lisle all the afternoon." 

** I must show you," said Ella, " I have introduced 
my new stitch." She hurried to a work-basket stand- 
ing near the hall door and was about to take up her 
work and return to the circle around the fire when a 
moving object in the hall attracted her attention. 
Raising her eyes she saw a tall figure apparently in 



A Bona Fide Ghost. 189 

woman's dress glide through the moonlight in the hall 
and out through the rear door. 

Ella was a brave girl and silly superstition had no 
hold upon her. Christian faith had driven afar from 
her soul unreasonable fear. Therefore though she 
thought the figure looked odd, yet she reflected it must 
be the housekeeper or some of that dignitary's friends. 
Dismissing the figure from her mind she showed her 
work to Madge and after a critical examination of the 
crocheting, and expression of much admiration by both 
girls, Ella arose to replace her work. 

As she faced the door, there in the moonlight stood 
the same figure looking at her with burning eyes, and 
even as she looked it moved away with gliding motion 
and no sound of footsteps was heard. 

As the apparition disappeared Ella glanced quickly 
at her brothers and sister to see if they had noticed 
anything amiss. They were deeply engrossed in their 
books and had seen nothing. Still thinking the figure 
must be some one wanting the housekeeper, she left 
the sitting-room, passed through the dining-room 
beyond and went out on a porch upon which the hall 
door opened, fully expecting to find the visitor there. 
Disappointed, she went straight into the hall and there 
came upon a scene of excitement. Madge rushed 
wildly against her, and into the sitting-room, exclaiming 
'* Oh! Ella, did you see that woman ? " 

' ' What woman ? ' ' asked Ella innocently. 



190 A Bona Fide Ghost 

' ' Why there was a woman in the hall standing by 
the door looking- at me. She had bright, fiery eyes 
like uncle Tom's, and I thought he had a joke of some 
kind on hand and I would be the first to find it out. 
So I ran out into the hall and after the figure to the 
front door, and when I could have put my hand on it, 
it vanished. ' ' Madge had told all this very rapidly 
and her excitement increased so visibly that Ella fore- 
bore to make known her experience. 

**Oh! Madge, you are excited and the woman was 
farther away than you thought." 

''No," persisted the child, shivering with nervous 
dread, *' I know it was a spirit. Why didn't I hear 
footsteps ? The only sound was a scraping sound like 
that made among dead leaves." 

* ' Well, you see the crushing of leaves deadened the 
sound of her steps," said Ella reassuringly, though she 
began to feel a nervousness herself when she remem- 
bered the absence of sound in her own experience with 
the figure, but she bravely braced herself against fear 
and strove to quiet her sister, who cried until her 
parents and Mary came home. After Mrs. Loring had 
taken Madge up stairs Ella related her part of the 
story. The family felt somewhat alarmed because 
they feared burglary more than a whole army of 
spectres. The boys had already taken a superficial 
hunt, but now a thorough search was instituted through 
the house and premises. No lurking thief was dis- 



A Bona Fide Ghost. 191 

covered, nothing unusual appeared and no clue to the 
mystery was forthcoming. For several days every 
member of the household was on the alert to discover 
the disturber of the family peace, but nothing satisfact- 
ory developed. 

The elders of the family have always believed some 
one wanted to frighten the young people and afterward 
felt ashamed of the cowardly attempt and were afraid 
to confess, but Madge remains unshaken in the belief 
in her one real ghost. Ella tells the experience some- 
times, with an intense longing to be able to give a 
sequel. But the mystery for the Lorings remains, and 
will remain, unless the following letter should one 
day fall into their hands. 

Dear Asheton: 

I am minded to make of you a confidant to-night, 
for I must unburden my full soul to some sympathetic 
friend. You know of my passion for beautiful Mary 
Lieberfelt, but you have yet to learn that in conse- 
quence of my vile attachment to the dregs of wine, 
old Loring has politely asked me to discontinue my 
visits to the house. Feeling it best to respect such 
authority I have been reduced to the extremity of view- 
ing my queen through the open window. To night I 
ventured too far, I had become almost wild for a sight 
of her. (My last weeks' spree shut out all vision for the 
time being.) Finding the blinds closed and no light 
in the hall I ventured in, with my long cape dangling 
about my heels as a disguise. You will perceive I was 



192 A Bona Fide Ghost. 

just tight enough to be reckless. As bad luck would 
have it, the eagle-eyed Ella spied me and I was fain to 
move out the nearest way. That nearest way proved 
the wrong way for me and I watched my opportunity 
to slip out on the street. Opposite the door who 
should confront me again but the Ella maiden and 
again I was obliged to retreat. Instead of following 
me, she executed a flank movement with intention to 
attack the enemy's rear. Divining her plan I made 
another eflbrt to escape, but lingered just a moment 
to scan the room for a glimpse of Mary. ' ' To delib- 
erate is to be lost." This time Madge, the youngest 
of the Lorings, detected my guilty self, and less strate- 
gic than her sister she plunged boldly into the fray. 
I had just time enough to escape her clutches by 
sliding off the side of the front porch. Perhaps they 
are now terrified by thoughts of ghosts or burglar. I 
expect they'll christen me ghost, because I had on my 
noiseless slippers and the only sound I made was when 
my cape swept the fallen leaves on the porch. The 
autumn has reached the stage where the leaves have 
lost their silken rustle and their harsh accent tells of 
whisperings from the winds of adversity. The even- 
ing's experience has completely sobered me and I tell 
you what, I mean to mend my ways and swear oft 
from drink for the sake of my mother and sweet Mary 
Lieberfelt. Just see if I don t. 

Yours in confidence, 

H, H, 
And he kept his pledge. 



THE PARADISE OF PINS. 



The Paradise of Pins. 195 



THE PARADISE OF PINS. 

AN hallow-e'en phantasy. 

WHERE do all the lost pins go ? " The ques- 
tion had dropped idly from my lips and in- 
tended more to break in upon the motony of a reverie 
into which I had drifted than for the purpose of ob- 
taing information, yet found utterance because of the 
fact that a pin which held my collar had treacherously 
deserted its post and eluded all my efforts to find it. 

Knowing that I was alone in the room, my surprise 
can easily be imagined when I heard a tiny, screeching 
voice ask, ** Would you really like to know ? " 

While fumbling for my spectacles, two theories con- 
cerning the voice flashed through my mind. I thought 
either the children had a new toy and were trying to 
play a trick on their near-sighted auntie, or a phono- 
graph had been turned on in my vicinity. No sooner, 
however, were my patient eyes brought to bear upon 
the scene than I perceived an object stranger than the 
voice had been. Lying on the arm of a chair near my 
elbow was the tiniest mite of a living thing. So curi- 
ous was it that my description will scarcely be believed. 



196 The Paradise of Pins, 

The object was an ordinary toilet pin, which had be- 
come exaggerated into a human resemblance. The 
metallic head was the most exact copy of a human 
head, arms grew from the pin's side and terminated in 
miniature hands, whose fingers were so small as to be 
scarcely visible; wings originated where the shoulders 
were supposed to be. An airy little garment draped 
the slender figure, but made no attempt to conceal the 
lower part, which was merely the point of a pin. I 
had heard of mermaids, half woman, half fish; I had 
heard of centaurs, half man, half horse; but I realized 
that mankind had yet to learn of the existence of a 
creature part man and part pin. The queer little thing 
evidently enjoyed my profound amazement, for the 
silence was broken by a bell-like tinkling, which I in- 
terpreted to mean a laugh at my expense. The sound 
loosed my tongue. 

' ' In the name of all that is curious, tell me who and 
what you are! " 

' ' If you mortals had sense enough to believe in fairy 
tales, and would remember when Hallow E'en comes 
round," replied the object, evasively, "you would not 
be so surprised at the sight of me. ' ' 

I then remembered that this was the last day of Oc- 
tober, and I had promised the young people to assist 
in some fortune- hunting game in the evening. 

' ' The sight of you is enough to make me believe 
anything, ' ' I agreed. ' * I am a convert from this 



The Paradise of Pins. 197 

moment. Now, will you please introduce yourself? " 

*' I am one of the lost pins, and have been translated 
from earth to the paradise of pins." 

"Well," said I, ''you have changed wonderfully 
since you went there. How came you to return ? ' ' 

''Twice a year, on the first of May and on Holy 
Eve, the gates of our paradise are thrown open to all 
pins who care to revisit the earth. I always avail my- 
self of this privilege." 

" Where is your paradise? " queried I, my curiosity 
now fully aroused. 

"That is our secret," answered my cautious pin; 
"but if you will consent to let my wings blindfold you 
and carry you there and back, I will gratify your curi- 
osity, showing you our paradise. ' ' 

I laughed long and heartily at the idea of my one- 
hundred-and-forty pounds being overshadowed and 
borne away by this diminutive creature, but when I 
gave verbal expression to my doubts, my odd little 
friend seemed all the more ambitious to display its 
boasted powers. Willing to test its incredible ability, 
I finally consented to make the journey. " Before we 
leave," I questioned, "tell me why you have remained 
on your back all this time." 

" Because it is the only position in which I am vis- 
ible to you. On the wing I fade from your sight, my 
stiffness prevents my sitting down, and I am too point- 
ed to stand with any comfort. We have a hundred 
ways of resting in paradise, on earth only one." 



198 The Paradise of Pins. 

"Very well," said I, anxious to see for myself this 
new elysium, " I am impatient to be off." 

The words had barely escaped from my mouth when 
a mist closed round me, and I felt myself being carried 
forward. Those sensations were followed in a few mo- 
ments by the realization of once more feeling firm 
ground under my feet. I was standing in a clear light, 
looking out upon a scene of beauty. A landscape in 
miniature was spread before me, consisting of soft 
swelling downs, with here and there a rise, approach- 
ing in height an ordinary hill. The absence of water 
was a striking feature. Broad-leaved palms and many 
varieties of catcus made the only shadows to be seen 
anywhere. The whole plain was covered with beauti- 
ful moss of every variety and all the colors and shades 
of colors imaginable. The whole looked like one great 
garden of low-clipped foliage plants. Metallic forms 
like my companion gleamed here and there and every- 
where. There were also other and odder shapes. 

** I will explain what may puzzle you," said my in- 
formant. ' ' When we pins are lost we have to stay 
awhile where we fall, and then if no one picks us up 
we come here. We naturally feel provoked with peo- 
ple who pick us up to add to their own good luck. 
But what do you think of our paradise ? ' ' 

* ' I am not surprised that you would wish to come 
to this beautiful place as soon as possible." 

"Why are those pins so dingy-looking? " I asked, 
pointing to some lustreless ones in the distance. 



The Paradise of Pins, 199 

' ' Those pins stayed out of paradise too long. They 
are caught by a monster we very much dread, whose 
name is Old Rusty, and who disgraces pins and spoils 
their brightness by covering them with an ugly coat, 
which it takes ages, even in paradise, to wear off. ' ' 

A question I was about to ask was anticipated by 
my informant. 

* ' Do you see that immense pin over by the palm 
grove ? " he asked. 

* ' Yes, ' ' I assented, * ' I see the pin you mean, 
though my conception of size would never have pro- 
nounced that pin immense." 

'' We call her Old Mother Bender," continued the 
pin, ignoring my effort at fault-finding, ' * because of 
her superior size and her peculiar occupation. Her 
business is to straighten crooked pins and give them 
their proper shape. Her establishment used to be just 
outside of paradise, but Old Rusty got hold of so 
many of her subjects that she had to move inside. ' ' 

" How do you keep him out of paradise? " I asked. 

* * By having no water. He can' t live without mois- 
ture." 

"Why," I asked again, ''are some pins unchanged 
in form ? I see several exactly like those in my cushion 
at home." 

I knew I must seem like a bundle of interrogation 
points, but then I had come to a strange country and 
I must find out all about it before my return home. 



200 The Paradise of Pi?is. 

' ' Those pins, ' ' untiringly responded my companion, 
* ' did not do their duty faithfully while in the world. 
Your Collar pin belongs to this class. ' ' I was glad to 
hear the traitor would be punished, for my freed collar 
had been creeping up toward my ears ever since my 
journey to pin paradise began. ' ' They have to sin- 
cerely repent of their evil ways before they can enjoy 
the delights all around them. They are sometimes 
sent to earth to warn mortals to be good. Whenever 
you feel the prick of a pin you may know it is one of 
these penitent ones urging you to forsake some false 
way. ' ' 

I determined that as soon as I reached home I 
would hunt and find that pin and keep it on earth as 
long as possible. ' ' Why is it that pins stick babies, 
who are so guiltless ?" asked I, thinking to corner 
my narrator. 

*' Oh! " he answered, ringing out a laugh, " the in- 
fants are then suffering because their nurses sin. It is 
a case of the innocent suffering for the guilty. ' ' 

* ' I see some pins have on golden crowns or wreaths, ' ' 
I remarked. 

**Yes; they are the pins which brides throw away 
when disrobing. They come straight to paradise, and 
are the only honored ones among us." 

' * Then these are all the lost pins which disappear so 
mysteriously." 

' ' You do not see all here, ' ' corrected the pin. 



The Paradise of Pins. 201 

* ' These pins belong to this century. A hedge yonder 
divides us from last century pins, and the pins of each 
century have a realm to themselves. ' ' 

" Oh! do show me some antique pins," I exclaimed. 

My guide gratified my curiosity, and showed me 
pins of all ages, from those used in the Temple hang- 
ings to those cast away as a good omen by the bride 
of yesterday. He bade me remember, however, that 
some valuable pins were so guarded by man that they 
were obliged to remain on earth. As instances, he 
cited the bronze pins from Thebes, in the Louvre, and 
also in the Abbott collection. I enjoyed the quaint, 
odd sights greatly, and was sorry when the pin said he 
must take me home, as he would barely have time to 
return to paradise before the gates closed. I thanked 
him as best I could, and won a promise to visit me 
again. He told me, however, at parting, that he 
could never conduct me to pin paradise again. A 
second trip would be fraught with severe penalties for 
both of us. The penalties would be, I should never 
be free all my life long from the pricking of pins, and 
he would be deprived of his present glorious form and 
reduced to an ignominious existence as a comman 
earthly pin. 



MY FIRST INVESTMENT. 



My First Investment. 205 



MY FIRST INVESTMENT. 

FOUNDED ON FACT. 

I REMEMBER having, as a boy, a wholesome fear 
of my grandfather. His unswerving rectitude, his 
attentions to children never separable from a moral to 
be taught, his unimpeachable justice combined with 
his stern punishment of the guilty, were all calculated 
to inspire respect largely sprinkled with dread. He 
tested me every Christmas by forcing a choice between 
a pile of one- hundred bright new coppers and a 
modest ten-dollar gold piece placed alongside. When 
I became old enough to choose wisely and to want an 
explanation of his conduct, he said : ' ' The gilded 
wings of a butterfly would not be worth anything at 
the mint, and I want to teach you always to choose 
solid worth rather than be misled by showy appear- 
ance. ' ' So the lesson was impressed. 

One of my boyhood faults was a tendency to care- 
less speaking, to the use of big figures when discussing 
money matters, and to exaggeration. My grandfather 
noted this trait and prepared the remedy, as the sequel 
will reveal. 

At the age of thirteen I was gifted with " mother 



2o6 My First InvestmesL 

wit" my teachers said, but I had no corresponding 
zeal for appHcation. Urged by my repeated solicita- 
tions, and also by the prospect of my becoming a 
good-for-naught if I remained longer tied to the 
school desk, my father consented to give me a salary 
of two-hundred a year in his lumber yard, that busi- 
ness having been the family rage for several genera- 
tions. The sense of importance engendered by paying 
my board and carrying a night key quite inflated me 
with pride, and made me feel quite competent to con- 
duct to a successful issue the most intricate business 
transaction. There was smooth sailing in my little 
pond, and I was daily growing more infatuated with 
my own piloting, when one day an ill wind sprang up 
submerging me under billows of trouble. 

I was driving with my grandfather on the wharf 
that morning. He plied me with questions concerning 
prices, quality, grain and so on, of the lumber awaiting 
transportation, while I brought ready replies from 
my recently garnered store of knowledge. Presently 
we came upon a great heap of refuse oars, the cast- 
away of our company's shipment a few days previous. 

' ' What are those worth, my son ? ' ' asked my 
grandfather, pointing to the pile. 

**I don't suppose they are worth very much," I 
answered, for the first time rather at a loss. 

' * Not very much, eh ? Well, now, what would 
you give for them ? ' ' 



My First Investment. 207 

"I wouldn't give more than twenty dollars," I 
answered, with the airs of a millionaire, not stopping 
to weigh my words. 

"Twenty dollars! That's a good sale for the com- 
pany. You shall have them, Charles, and pay for 
them at once." 

"But I don't want to buy those old things, 
grandpa, ' ' I pleaded, alarmed by his serious tone. 

His reply was very imperative. * ' You have valued 
them at twenty dollars, my boy. I shall sell them to 
you because we will never have a similar offer." 

" But they are not worth that," I still urged, half 
frantic at the idea of burying a tithe of my salary 
under such rubbish. 

* ' You have made your own valuation, my son. 
Had you said they were worthless, I would not have 
made you our purchaser. We will now drive to the 
office and formulate the sale. ' ' 

I knew my grandfather was inexorable, so I could 
only anathematize myself during the remainder of the 
drive. I overdrew my salary twenty dollars, bore the 
mortification of a homily from my father, called down 
upon my head some disparaging epithets from my 
less devout uncle, and went home that evening with a 
night-mare in my pocket in the shape of a receipted 
bill for twenty dollars paid for refuse oars not worth a 
farthing. 

But for my mother, I believe I could not have 



2o8 My First Investment 

borne the load of humiliation. The magic of her 
comfort smoothed my pillow that night, and her 
assurance that my merchandise must be of some value 
and would be useful to somebody, inspired me to feel 
that a purchaser was waiting for me to finish my 
night's rest to conclude a bargain advantageous 
to me. 

During the three following weeks I felt that my 
hair would turn gray in my efforts to sell those oars. 
I was the laughing-stock of the family; my brothers 
were constantly asking me to take them rowing; every 
time I went into the office my uncle admonished me 
not to be "o'er careful; " my chums would often ask 
if I had learned to *' paddle my own canoe; " and one 
day even my father waived his usual gravity to advise 
me to make friends with the skiff-builders. Life was 
all disheartening. My grandfather having called my 
attention to the fact that the wharfage was encroaching 
upon my property, I adopted his suggestion and had 
our teams move those luckless oars to our lumber- 
yard. 

Another plan having presented itself to my agitated 
brain, I took advantage of a half-holiday to go down 
among the block and pump makers on the wharf 
But every effort to sell, here as elsewhere, showed the 
same resultant discouragement until at last I entered 
an office where I resolved to make a final attempt to 
save myself from the ignominy of a failure at the very 



My First Investment. 209 

beginning of my business career. The dingy appoint- 
ments of the office were unpromising enough. Rusty 
pens, clippings of paper, crumpled sheets crowded 
with figures, and stumps of pencils formed a unique 
carpet and almost hid the dirty plank floor. As if to 
contradict the suggestion of poverty, the solid walnut 
furniture raised its protest of neglect and here and 
there peered with brilliant glance through its dust 
labels, as if to assert that under proper treatment 
better things could be evolved from existing circum- 
stances. I believe I could now draw a sketch of that 
room from memory. Bent over a sloping desk and 
intent upon a long list of figures, was a head whose 
masses of dark brown hair looked gray where the wan 
light of advancing age fell full upon it. The man, 
the sole occupant of the room, was carelessly dressed, 
and as he turned at the sound of my voice a preoc- 
cupied glance met mine. After listening with apparent 
interest to my business statement, he informed me that 
his name was Tracy, and that he would look at my 
oars. With a lightening heart I took him to my 
business location, and though he was remarkably silent 
during the walk, yet I was delighted to see that he 
was favorably impressed with my property. I began 
to think my purchase of some real value, and to 
wonder whether I had not been the victim of a hoax 
rather than a blunder; so when Mr. Tracy asked my 
price, I unblushingly told him he might have the lot 
for fifty dollars. o 



2IO My First Investment, 

*' That is too much," he said, mechanically, and as 
if his interest was waning. 

**How much are you willing to give?" I ventured, 
feeling that my newly- awakened hopes had received 
their death-blow. 

'Til give you forty dollars," he replied, in the same 
even tone and without any variation of facial expression. 

* 'They are certainly worth that much ? " I could not 
prevent the question linking itself with the assertion, 
while I breathlessly awaited his answer. 

*'Oh! certainly, they are worth that much to me," 
was Mr. Tracy's reply, spoken with a weary air. And 
my conscience was salved in spite of the listless 
way in which the purchase was concluded. Returning 
to his office with him, he paid me cash, stowed away 
my receipt and dismissed me, all with the same per- 
functory manner. I could not help feeling there had 
been something unreal about the whole thing, and I 
was afraid I would wake up to find it but one among 
the many strange dreams which had haunted me 
recendy. However, the forty dollars in my pocket 
was tangible evidence of a good sale, and later that 
afternoon fact put fancy forever to flight when the oars 
were removed from our lumber pile to Mr. Tracy's, 
leaving in their wake happiness for me. 

My mother was shocked when she heard of my 
bargain, said there must be some mistake about it, and 
that I must see Mr. Tracy the next morning and ask 



My First Invesh7ie7it. 211 

him to reconsider. If he then still persisted in paying 
me such a price, I might keep the money with a clear 
conscience. 

Early the next morning I was up and could not wait 
patiently the coming of business hours. On my way 
to the wharf I stopped at my uncle's office to pass 
away some of the laggard minutes, and found him 
deep in the morning paper. Spying me, he shouted, 
*'Come here, Charlie, old boy, you've done it now. 
I told you those oars would row you into an under- 
current. ' ' 

''What's the matter now ? " I enquired, alarmed by 
his mocking yet serious tone. 

"Matter enough, youngster. Here's the result of 
your work. Your Mr. Tracy used your oars to row 
himself beyond his depth. In common language, 
after being duped by you, he went home and blew his 
brains out." 

''Oh! Uncle Tyce," I moaned, you've teased me 
enough about those things. Look here let's make a 
bargain" — 

But my peace-making offer was never expounded, 
for my uncle interrupted, "none of your bargains for 
me, young man," adding as he tossed me the paper, 
"There read for yourself" 

This paragraph met my eye: "Reginald Tracy, a 
large ship-owner, and controller of the pump-making 
agency, on the wharf, committed suicide yesterday 
evening by shooting himself through the head, ' ' 



212 My First Investment. 

I must have waded through the half-column of that 
fearful tragedy, though I was not conscious of read- 
ing, for every detail seems vivid now, from the calibre 
of the pistol to the summoning of the coroner's jury. 
What the verdict might be I could not imagine, but in 
fancy I heard myself called a murderer, blackness of 
darkness seemed closing me in on every side, and out 
from the gloom emerged my victim's sad face full of 
reproach for me alone. As I laid the paper down and 
went out, perfect silence prevailed; not even my fun- 
loving uncle could find a remark appropriate to the 
occasion. 

Home I went as rapidly as possible, the most miser- 
able boy in the city, to pour out my woe to the one 
sympathetic heart — my mother's. But even she could 
only bid me wait for later information, though she 
would not tolerate the thought that my sale had any 
connection with the suicide. Not accepting the logic 
of her reasoning, I spent the day in my room brood- 
ing over the catastrophe. I felt I had taken advantage 
of a man's ignorance (though why he should not be a 
better judge of all kinds of lumber than I, was a 
mystery) and swindled him out of money. Afterward, 
discovering my trick, he had been driven to desperation 
by losing so much money! (Forty dollars meant 
much to me then.) In such musings the time passed, 
and when at twilight I heard my uncle's step upon the 
stair, I had closed the chapter of my earthly happiness 



My First Investment 213 

and believed that nothing but misery awaited me in 
the volume of days to come. 

Uncle Tyce rapped at my door and with more 
gentleness than I had ever seen him exhibit, came up 
to me and said: 'Well, Charlie, I bring you the 
verdict of the coroner's jury and it will be an intense 
relief to you." 

"Oh! tell me," I cried eagerly, scarcely able to 
believe in any good news. 

'' Yes," he assured me, '* the inquest developed the 
fact that for some weeks past, Mr. Tracy has been 
suffering from acute melancholia. You sold your oars 
to a crazy man !' ' 

"Oh! Uncle Tyce, is it true? " This with a burst 
of tears which marked the transition from woe to 
joy. 

"Yes, my boy, it is," my uncle said, and then he 
added slyly, partly to divert me and partly to gratify 
his fun-craving disposition, "but you know none but a 
lunatic would have bought them." 

We then went down stairs together to join the 
household in a "family thanksgiving," as my mother 
called it. 

Unprompted by any and to my dear, good mother's 
great satisfaction, I took the forty dollars back, a week 
later, to Mr. Tracy's son and heir, Harold Tracy, and 
gave him a full explanation of the whole affair. 
Strangely enough, either from a sentiment of delicacy 



214 My First Investment 

or from compassion for me, he refused to cancel his 
father's last business transaction. 

Thus it happened, after much tribulation and the 
solving of some ethical problems, I doubled my money 
on my first investment. 



KING AND QUEEN DAYS, 



King and Queen Days. 217 



KING AND QUEEN DAYS. 

THEY became enthusled at once and were among 
the first to hand in their names as members. 

They thought it would be so easy to do just one 
kind act every day. Mrs. Estreway had been telling 
the children of the ''Ministering League," and they 
were all very anxious to exercise the privilege and 
duties of membership. The family had gathered 
around the tea-table the evening following, when 
Madeleine, an impulsive girl just entering her teens, 
asked if they all had a kind deed with which to crown 
the day. 

Charlie, two years older, said with an air of assumed 
humility : 

" I think we had better keep our deeds for mam- 
ma's ears alone. We will grow conceited if we 
sit up in public and say what good things we have 
done. ' ' 

** Charlie is right," said papa, **and his rule will 
include Agnes. But I think we may hear what Benny 
and Seeta have done without making them vain. 
Come, confess, little man, how have you kept your 
rule to-day ? ' ' 



2i8 King and Queen Days. 

' ' I hepped Wanny put the buggy in the shed, and 
he gave me a cent, an* I held de stwainer 'hile Annie 
pou'd the milk in, but I didn' want her to dive me 
dat big tup o' milk either. ' ' 

The elders laughed heartily at this evidently 
strategic choice of work, and Charlie said as they 
arose from the table, ' ' That gives me an idea. The 
editor of the 'Weekly,' wants a type-setter; I think 
I'll go down and help him to-morrow." 

The next day Agnes was quietly occupied when her 
mother came in and sat down to her sewing. Pres- 
ently Agnes said, " Mamma, I am going to have my 
king and queen days." 

"What do you mean, my daughter?" asked Mrs. 
Estreway, puzzled and interested. Agnes was only 
nine years old, but she was very bright and her ideas 
were natural and original. 

**Why you know, mamma, everybody who is 
crowned is not necessarially a real king or queen. 
Poets used to be crowned, and warriors; and we have 
our own May Queen, and also our make-believe 
queens. I am going to try to have two days in the 
week on which my kind deeds will be so great and so 
many that they will make those two days royal, and 
I will call them my king and queen days." 

Tears gathered in the mother's eyes, as she bent 
and kissed her sweet child, and commended heartily 
this beautiful fancy of her fertile brain. 



King aud Queen Days. 219 

The next day was Wednesday, and Mrs. Estreway 
was standing at the window watching the home coming 
of the school children. Far down the street she saw a 
child's form, which looked very much like her litde 
Agnes, except that three or four large bundles almost 
obscured the figure and made her almost unrecogniz- 
able at such a distance. As the child turned down 
the first corner she came to, Mrs. Estreway felt she 
must have been deceived ; but very much interested, 
she went out to the side entrance to see if the heavily 
laden little one should pass through the street below 
the house. 

She had not long to wait, for soon the litde form 
came again in view, and this time near enough to be 
identified as her own Agnes. But what could all 
those bundles mean? and where were her school- 
books ? and she really was not coming home at all, 
but keeping straight on. 

Ah ! the mystery was explained when the mother 
saw the child was followed by a woman bent and old, 
who seemed to walk with great difficulty. Mrs. 
Estreway recognized her as a neighbor, living about 
two squares below, who seldom went abroad. Surely 
she was unusually feeble to-day. 

When Agnes came home a half hour later her 
mother said, "my little girl is late to-day ! " 

** Yes, mamma, I carried some things home for old 
Mrs. Tomlinson. Do you know, mamma, I believe 



220 King and Queen Days. 

she would have fallen down if I had not come along. 
She could hardly get home. ' ' 

* * Yes, dear, you did right, ' ' was the affectionate 
response. 

Later Mrs. Estreway heard Agnes defending herself 
against the ridicule of some companions, who told her 
she looked like a silly guy with a lot of newspaper 
parcels strung around her and a horrid old woman for 
company. 

Before tea Agnes had a run down to poor old Mrs. 
Tomlinson's to ask how she was. She came back to 
her mother with sparkling eyes to say that the old 
woman had said "the lift" had done her *'lots of 
good and she'd rest a deal better that night, because 
her back wasn't so tired." 

At the end of the next week Mrs. Estreway stum- 
bled on Agnes' weekly memorandum, and as she 
thought of the burdened little figure trudging wearily 
down the street, the ridicule of associates and the 
special nutting expedition resigned, she was not sur- 
prised to find written opposite Wednesday in red ink, 
the words " Queen's Day." 



